


Lion's Pride

by Araceil



Category: Final Fantasy XV, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Child Abandonment, Daddy!Cor is best Cor, Family, Family Shenanigans, M/M, Reincarnation, Romance, S L O W B U R N, Tags to be added as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-08-17 15:34:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16519202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araceil/pseuds/Araceil
Summary: There are areas in the Department of Mysteries off-limits for very good reasons. When Harry stumbles into one of them, he finds himself reborn, literally, into a new world. A new world with a father, and family, and a chance to live. For real. And no one, nothing, not Astral, Scourge, Daemon, or Beast, is going to harm them.





	1. Prologue

Of all things to greet them when they returned to the Citadel, this.... was perhaps the most outlandish and _alarming_ of them all.

It was certainly the most surprising.

Prometheus Scientia had the shadow of a grimace on his face as they stared, “My apologies, your Grace, but she refused to wait,” he informed them stiffly, even as his arms continued to gently rock the bundle of blankets against his chest. Blankets that whimpered unhappily. The Royal Retainer adjusted his hold and tried to shush the bundle, but the utterly heart-wrenching whimpering continued, snuffling and hiccuping, not loudly, but impossible to ignore.

“And no one could _stop_ her?” Regis asked in dismay as he looked between his retainer, the bundle in his arms, the single box on the table, and the folder of papers beside it.

The Scientia flushed a little, his green eyes sliding to one side, “She was quite correct in her declaration that we had no legal right to do so. She... resigned all of her parental rights to the child's biological father, the paperwork is air-tight, and all in order,” he explained with a short nod to the folder on the table that Clarus was eyeing like a still living viper, an expression of disbelief and growing anger on his usually jovial features. He had been actively trying for the last year or so for children with his beloved wife, without success. No doubt the fact that this woman could so completely, and coldly, abandon her child before the sun had even set on the day she gave birth to it infuriated him.

The King was still young enough to splutter in shock behind closed doors, not yet having mastered the same emotional restraint as his bodyguard, “How do you just – _resign_ all right to your own _child_?!” he protested in growing anger, his expression pained as he looked to the tiny bundle in Prometheus's arms. “Did she even _name_ it?” he asked weakly.

He shook his head, “She left the majority of the boy's birth certificate blank. Filling in only his date of birth, weight, and the name of his father,” explained the retainer.

“What kind of woman – what kind of _mother_ just abandons her child?” Clarus growled as he snatched the folder up to look over the papers within.

“Desino was never interested in commitment,” Cor explained stiffly, it was only through many years of long friendship that allowed the others to read the confused hurt that lingered on jagged edges of betrayal in his tone, “She avoided entanglement as though it pained her. She.... would have never tolerated motherhood,” he admitted as he hesitantly approached the retainer, and the bundle in his arms.

“But to abandon your _child_ -!” Clarus flared, only to fall quiet as his friend gently took the bundle from the Royal Retainer, the blond carefully arranging the Marshal's combat roughened hands to support the newborn properly.

The whimpering quieted as father and son met for the first time.

He was so small...

Cor could have held his entire head within the palm of his hand, it was no bigger than an orange. Desino had always been a cold woman, beautiful, but ruthless and aggressively independent. It had been one of the things that attracted him to her, that refusal to be tied down, to be beholden or owned by anyone or anything. The two of them knew there was nothing between them, barely even friendship. They were a means to an end, a pleasant relief in a world at war, one that they could trust to watch their back, keep their mouths shut, and move on when the sun rose without attempting to intrude any further on each other's lives. And now this.

A child.

A son. She hadn't even let the nurses bathe him before bringing him here Cor noted as he catalogued the dry crust of amniotic fluids still clinging to soft downy hair. Dark hair. Only time would tell if it were the same shade of black as his, or the deep ebony brown of hers. His face was still red and misshapen from the birth, around his wrist was a plastic hospital tag, he wore only a hospital issue diaper, his blanket being one of the scarves that Cor had bought for Desino years ago, a simple whim during the colder months. She wrapped their child in it when she abandoned him here with nothing else to him, not even a name, just a box of the trinkets he occasionally found to give to her when the whim took him, without even waiting to face him and tell him herself that she had even been with child in the first place.

“He has your eyes,” Regis observed softly, hovering over his shoulder.

They were a little darker, but there was no denying it as the infant's eyes cracked open to frown up at them. Big blue eyes too young to focus properly, practically blind if he recalled what little he knew of infants correctly.

They did indeed have the same eyes.

“They could change,” he heard himself saying absently as he carefully adjusted his arm to support the child (his son, his _son_ ) in one arm before touching his face with the other. Soft skin, _so_ soft. “He's only a day old,” his voice pointed out logically, even as his mind was struck by the sudden realisation that his work-roughened fingertips were probably unpleasant to someone who had never felt _anything_ like it before.

Tiny fingers closed on his forefinger before he could pull away, he blinked, startled. His son frowned up at him, gripping his finger in one tiny hand. So small he could barely get his fingers around just the one digit, but his grip was _strong_.

Clarus snarled as he slammed the papers down on the table, “She's _completely_ resigned all parental rights to the child. Even gotten herself a _restraining order_ against you!” he exclaimed in outright offence.

Cor wiggled his finger, attempting to gently pull it free.

His son scowled, not letting go.

Regis coughed on a laugh behind him.

“Indeed, she was most thorough in disavowing herself of responsibility,” Prometheus agreed disapprovingly.

The Shield sighed in aggravation, “How long until we can get Child services here?” he asked tiredly, throwing the rest of the papers down and leaning back on the couch.

“What,” Cor demanded shortly, even as Prometheus answered a succinct 'half an hour, sir'. Everyone paused and looked at the young man, Cor glared at the Shield. “I'm keeping him,” the young man said shortly, tightening his grip on his _son_.

Clarus groaned, “Cor, _please_ , you're nineteen! You're still a child yourself-”

“You were not saying that when taking me to the front lines, Clarus,” the Marshal reminded him coolly. The Shield went quiet. “I am keeping him.”

“You sure?” Regis asked softly, Cor stiffened and turned to glare at him, but the King lifted a hand to stall him, concern written on his face, “Babies are hard to take care of, Cor, even for couples on leave. We'll help, of course we will, but being responsible for a life is.... not the same as being a bodyguard. You're going to shape this child, everything about them. Their world views, opinions, personality, you will influence all of it. Not only that, but he's going to be completely dependent on you, _entirely._ ”

Cor felt his mouth twitch before he looked down at the infant in his arms. His friends were right. He was only nineteen, and in most places that meant he was still a child himself. But – but....

“He didn't ask to be born,” he stated flatly, “That's my responsibility. And I will do right by him. As best I can.”

Clarus sighed, “Sometimes that means giving him to someone better suited to caring for him, Cor,” he explained gently.

The Marshal couldn't stop himself from scoffing, “Tell me that after you hear the stories of the Child services from the mouths of the people raised by it,” he declared shortly before looking his King dead in the eye, “I'm keeping him.”

Regis huffed a small smile, “Thought you might. Now, hand him over, I wanna see my new nephew!” he exclaimed with a grin, making grabby hand motions to the child.

Clarus sighed in annoyance as the prickly nineteen year old jerked away from his King, starting the most subdued game of keep-away he had ever seen the two engage in. Coupled with the way Regis was whining, and Cor was getting wound up, something was going to break soon – the Shield just hoped that such an incident would remain private.

Having Prometheus witness the Marshal drop kick their King through a coffee table was one thing, having the Crownsguard see it was another.

 

* * *

 

Thank the Six for Antheia Amicita and Prometheus Scientia.

As soon as Clarus's wife learned of his promotion to fatherhood, she practically flew to the Citadel in order to join them. Cor had given up keeping his baby from Regis's grasp, and had sprawled out on the sofa drinking some ebony laced with whiskey to calm his nerves while his King and bestfriend cuddled, and cooed at his son who was quite happy to go to sleep, and grab hold of any finger that touched his hand with surprising strength. Clarus and Prometheus had already begun the administrative process of ensuring Cor's custody was uncontested, moving his residency from the Crownsguard barracks to the Citadel (they said it was so he could continue his duties with minimum fuss, it was obviously done because prying the child from Regis's overly affectionate hands was going to be a nightmare, and it was just _easier_ this way), changing his pay-packet (parents in the Guard received extra stipends for child-care amongst other things), drawing up further paperwork for custody changes should the ever-unlikely possibility of Cor's death occur (Clarus pointedly ignored the wounded yelp from Regis when he struck the man's name off the list of potentials), and drew up lists of things that they would need for the baby.

Antheia burst in, whisked the child out of Regis arms, patted Cor on the head, kissed her husband's cheek, stole the list of supplies, linked her arms with Prometheus, and announced they were going shopping – and that Cor had better hurry his ass up because he was coming too.

He'd had no choice but to follow, and Clarus had no choice but to allow his wife her way. Those two really were a match made in Heaven Cor decided as the Shield opened his mouth to protest, got given a syrupy sweet smile from his wife, and promptly closed it.

And that was his afternoon.

Driving Antheia and Prometheus to just about every baby boutique, mommas and papas, and child themed department store in the Crown City. Between the three of them, Antheia's preprepared knowledge of babies and parenthood, Prometheus's intelligence and foresight, and Cor's ruthless practicality and efficiency, they got everything they needed and a few extras in short order.

They had just stopped for lunch, and to feed the baby who had started to grumble not too long ago, when Clarus called to inform them that his new residence in the Citadel had been finished, and his belongings transferred over. They did not do anything by halves when they needed to.

“ _Do you want us to do anything specific in the baby's room?!_ ” they heard Regis ask from where he was probably trying, and failing, to get the phone off his Shield.

Both Antheia and Prometheus stared at him.

He froze, arm filled with baby, bottle in hand, like a chocobo in the headlights.

What was appropriate bedroom décor for a child?

What did his mother do for him?

“Rocking chair,” he decided, remembering how she told him about reading to him as a baby on her rocking chair, stories about Knights and Kings and warriors, stories that influenced him into being who he was today. “And a bookcase,” he added, because he would need somewhere to put those books within easy arm's reach while he was on said chair.

Antheia cooed as Prometheus passed his request on. “Have you thought of a name yet, Cor?” she asked brightly as the Royal Retainer added a few other suggestions (as well as informing them of the deliveries being driven over).

The Crownsguard shifted the bottle of formula his son was greedily sucking down (was this the first thing he had eaten? Had Desino even fed him before bringing him to the Citadel? Had the hospital?). “I had... some ideas. My mother wanted a large family but, after me, couldn't. She kept a list of names. I liked Anima.”

She hummed, sipping her ebony, “Anima Leonis, Soul of the Lion, hm?” she asked, referring to his last name as well.

“It compliments you, Marshal,” Prometheus told him as he put the phone down and returned to his own drink.

“Heart and Soul. Yes it does, doesn't it?” Antheia chirped happily as Cor forced back his faint flush and returned to making sure his son was fed, unable to stop himself from smiling ever so slightly as blue eyes blinked peacefully up at him from amidst the scarf still wrapped around him. It would be a few months before he could do anything but eat, sleep, and cry, but Regis wasn't much different at the start of their journey five years ago, he could handle it.

Anima Leonis, his son.

He bade goodbye to the two once they returned to the Citadel, Antheia promising to visit him again tomorrow and help him settle in properly with the baby, bring him a few of her parenting books to prepare him for what was to follow. Thankfully they left him to his own devices after that, he was generally quite a quiet and reserved person, having this much attention focused on him was new and unsettling, he needed some alone-time to adjust.

His new rooms were three times the size of his apartment at the barracks. Living room, kitchen, separated toilet and bathroom, a small laundry room, and two bedrooms – one of which was fairly neat and plain in shades of grey, blue, and white, obviously his despite the bassinet sat at the foot of his bed, while the other was pale green and gold with white and blue, chocobos painted onto the walls, all of the furniture they had bought on their little excursion, and a rickety old rocking chair a good fifty years old that someone must have found in an antique store in the slums and tried to fix up as best they could. It was perfect, and fully stocked at that. He would have to think of an appropriate thank you to both Antheia and Prometheus for their care.

He also happened to find a certain Royal pain in the ass eagerly waiting for him in the living room, ready and willing to snatch the sleeping Anima from his grasp. Given how his forearm was beginning to cramp from being in that position for the last several hours, he didn't protest the abduction of his son, merely went into the kitchenette and grabbed himself a glass of water. Looked like he wasn't going to be getting that alone-time, though, given how thoroughly he was being ignored for the baby, he supposed it still kind of counted? Regis was like a piece of furniture in his life by this point anyway.

So.

Fatherhood.

He could think of worse things, though he dreaded to think of what the tabloid headlines would read tomorrow. He snorted a little, no doubt he would become the public face of the rising teen-pregnancy problem or whatever it was they were blaming the youth of today for this time.

 

* * *

 

Despite careful and discreet inquiries and searches, Desino Sterpis was never found.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daddy!Cor is now abound, with multiple instances of Uncle Regis and Clarus. 
> 
> During the game, it's mentioned that the Amicitas' are traditionally Shields for the Royal family, and that the Scientia family are also traditionally retainers for the Royals too. But aside from Clarus, Gladio, and Iris, no other Amicita is named, and Ignis' parents also remain unnamed. Also, Weskham is not a Scientia but was apparently Regis' retainer during his own travelling days. Shit be a little whack'yo. Ta'dah, thus I give to you, Gladio and Iris' mother Antheia, so named for the Greek Goddess of gardens and flowers, and Ignis' father, Prometheus, whom is credited as being the Greek God who gave man Fire (which on Eos was actually Ifrit but let's ignore that).


	2. Chapter 1

Anima grew quickly, almost too quickly Cor felt.

It felt as though it were only yesterday that he had given the infant his first bath in his kitchen sink under Antheia's careful instruction, since he held the babe while Regis' personal doctor examined him, pronouncing him healthy but slightly premature. Prometheus handing him a small library's worth of parenting books, and a small hand-written notebook he had transcribed himself with information he had gotten from his own mother about raising a child on one's own (it had been news to Cor that the Scientia and his brother had been raised by a single parent, his father having been one of the many casualties of the war against the Empire).

From being unable to hold his own head up, to sitting upright, shuffling around on his stomach, rolling, crawling, sticking almost _everything_ he could get his hands on into his mouth (he had been forced to get a sword-stand and mount it on the wall after the first time he saw his son gumming on the end of his katana's sheath when he turned his back to make a cup of ebony), to standing on his own two feet and taking his first wobbling steps forward, that adorable frown of concentration on his face as he fell, and then stubbornly got back up.

“He's definitely your son,” Clarus observed dryly as he watched the infant scowling down at his own legs after the second time he toppled, and then got back up. Cor couldn't help but agree with him from where he had been sat just out of reach, waiting for his boy to get to him.

“He's got the glare down pat,” Regis agreed with a grin leaning over the arm of the chair to offer the baby a hand to hold. Ani gave him a dirty look and slapped his hand away with an impatient grunt before he once again set his gaze on his father and took a few more faltering steps forward. The King laughed, “Same attitude too!”

Clarus snickered behind his mug of ebony as Cor shot them both a glare a moment before Ani tumbled into his lap with a happy squeak.

 

* * *

 

Another miscarriage, barely three months into her pregnancy, Antheia was beside herself, unable to be consoled. Clarus was saddened, and resigned. The Amicitia line may very well die out with him – because he would face Bahamut and walk backwards into the Abyss of Darkness before he turned his back on his beloved wife.

With this in mind, he suggested Regis name Cor's son, Anima, as the next Shield of the Lucis Caelum line.

“He's a strong child, quick to learn, watchful,” the white haired man explained dully, watching the toddler from the corner of his eye as he tested his walking around the room, becoming more and more sure footed the more he moved, little by little. “He would make a fine Shield.”

Cor gripped his knee, “Are you sure?” he asked softly, “I am honoured, but this is no small thing, Clarus.”

His friend nodded slowly, “I know. But it has been five years now. I don't think Antheia could handle another disappointment like this, it breaks her heart every time. I cannot ask more of her. I have tortured her enough to continue my family name,” he sighed.

Regis reached over and gripped his friend's shoulder, “The consideration shown to my family can never be repaid my friend. The Amicitias will forever be honoured by this House. I will take Anima Leonis as my Heir's Shield, if his father so approves,” Cor nodded solemnly, “and if ever the Six bless you and your wife, then I will honour the old vows.” The King smiled wanly when Clarus looked up at him, expression coloured with confusion, “What father wouldn't wish for two Shields to protect their child?” he asked gently.

For the first time in a week, Clarus huffed a small smile.

 

* * *

 

Ani was two when Antheia fell pregnant again, and carried it past the thus far insurmountable first trimester at long last.

Clarus seemed to flip between absolute confidence in his parenting skills (“Cor is a literal human disaster, and he's doing well enough. How hard can it be?”) and _crippling self-doubt and terror_ (“A baby, Regis! An actual human being! I don't know what I'm doing! I can barely keep YOU from going out and getting your fool head cut off! Babies can't even defend themselves, what am I doing, this is a terrible idea, I'm going to get my baby killed! Cor, help me! Regis, stop laughing!”), with very little room between for sane or reasonable behaviour. He was, of course, impeccably presented and contained while handling all issues of state and governance as one of the Council and advisors to the Throne, but the moment the doors closed and it was just the close circle of friends, it was a toss up between whether or not he would be raiding the closest liquor cabinet or panicking.

Cor himself had to deal with more frequent intrusions from Antheia as her baby-brain began to ascend to even greater heights. She had been broody before, wanting and desperately trying for children over the last four years with great effort, and that only got worse when Ani came into their lives and she was able to hold and fuss over a newborn personally where as before she had little contact. He was glad she was happy, practically glowing with it despite not being so far along, but he did somewhat wish he had some measure of privacy back.

Ani loved the attention though, which was reason enough to allow it, he supposed. His son was wonderfully affectionate, and strangely empathetic, always seeming to know exactly when to drawl into his father's lap and either cuddle down or distract him. Ani was one of those children who was very determined to make it inescapably clear that he loved his father dearly. Secretly, Cor dreaded the day his son would decide he was too cool to hug him, that he shouldn't kiss him goodnight before getting into bed. So, for now he took what he could get, and gladly at that, knowing that these affectionate and loving years would soon be behind them as he grew.

His son had only gotten more sure footed as he got older, but lagged behind a little on talking. He would occasionally babble for a moment, only to frown and go quiet before very slowly and _deliberately_ trying again, his words just as incomprehensible as before, which apparently frustrated him into scowling silence once again. Cor recognised what it was immediately, having seen it plenty of times before in soldiers who had lost their hearing or suffered from facial injuries that caused partial paralysis for a time – his son was _trying_ to speak, and speak _properly_ but just didn't have the muscle or vocal control for the sounds he wanted, and thus was staying quiet out of frustration as he failed again and again to do what he wanted.

So, Cor started teaching him short battle chants, simplifying the words and putting them to a simple tune that he could follow along to. Antheia had cottoned on as well and begun to teach him nursery rhymes that were.... a lot more child friendly than the Crownsguard vow he had been teaching his son.

The first thing his son said had been a full sentence, carefully pronounced, inescapably clear.

“I love you, Daddy,” the two year old told him solemnly, hugging his leg tightly as he returned from coordinating the Crownsguard that day, leaving Antheia to babysit for him.

It felt like someone had punched all the air out of his lungs when he registered what his son had just said. The first thing he had ever said to him. He tossed aside his jacket and knelt down, pulling his boy into a tight hug.

“I love you too, Ani,” he promised, pressing a kiss to his child's forehead. His son who possessed his pale blue eyes, and his mother's dark ebony brown hair, the best of both of them, but far better than the sum of his parts. He scooped his son up in one arm and kicked his boots off negligently as he made his way inside properly to where Antheia was looking shiny-eyed and emotional as she hovered by the doorway, no doubt having overheard them.

She managed to smile at him, even with her lips trembling, “Good day?” she asked brightly.

He glanced down at his son and couldn't help but smile, “Now it is.”

 

* * *

 

Gladiolus Amicitia was born on April the second on a blisteringly hot day.

Antheia cursed unlike anything they had ever heard out of her before, swearing that if Clarus told her to regulate her breathing one more time she'd put his bollocks in a vice and see how he regulated his breathing then! Outside the delivery room, Regis looked torn between worry and hilarity as he sat with Ani in his lap, hands over the toddler's ears so as to try and save him from the woman's foul language (ignorant to the fact he had heard far worse on those days when Cor was forced to take him into the Crownsguard barracks for whatever reason).

Once Clarus' son finally joined them, Antheia was permitted visitors, and, of course, the first person allowed to see the baby had been Ani.

“Come see your cousin,” the whiskey eyed woman cooed, patting the bed beside her as she cradled her newborn son. Regis set the toddler on the bed, and for a moment it looked like he wasn't going to move, but eventually the child carefully crawled his way over, being very careful about where to put his hands and feet so as not to jostle the new mother as he cuddled up close and she adjusted the blankets for him to get a better look.

Despite being newly born and still red and misshapen from the stress of it, Cor could tell easily that the child would have more of his mother in him than his father. He was most definitely darker skinned than Clarus even now, and his hair was the same shade of chocolate brown as his mother's. With the infant's eyes swollen shut though, it was anyone's guess as to what colour they were right now.

Ani tilted his head before reaching a hand out, he stopped before touching and looked up at Antheia as if asking for permission. She smiled warmly, “Gently now, Ani,” she told him soothingly, watching softly as the toddler carefully stroked young Gladiolus's soft downy hair with an awkward chubby hand.

The child huffed and sat back, “I don't like cousin, Auntie Theia,” he told her carefully before pointing at the baby before the look of shock could form on her face, “Can he be brother?” he asked hopefully.

Antheia glanced at Cor, her eyes wide and hopeful. He shrugged, leaving it entirely in her hands, and the woman laughed happily, wrapping an arm around his son and pulling him close, bending her head over the two children to kiss them both.

“Of course, Ani.”

 

* * *

 

It.... never really struck Cor as particularly odd, off, or out of place, how _deliberate_ and _careful_ his son was until he got a front row seat to little Gladiolus's chaotic, rampant, and clumsy infant years. A lot of behaviours he was warned of in books just never manifested in his son, and now he was witnessing them in their full 'glory' in the form of Gladio. Crying at the drop of a hat, _screeching_ to be fed, desperate escape attempts during diaper changes, and a whole host of other things.

“You got off lightly,” Clarus accused, prominent shadows under his eyes – this week was his turn to get up in the night to tend his son.

“Probably,” the Marshal agreed stoically, watching with fond eyes as Ani struggled to help Antheia change her wriggling son. Ever since little Gladio had been born, his blue eyed baby boy had been determined to be as helpful as he could: from picking up toys, books, and clothes left in their wake, to feeding and burping, to collecting dirty diapers to be put into the bins and even helping at bath time.

“I have been meaning to speak with you on that matter actually, Marshal,” Prometheus interjected politely as he returned with the Amicitia family's own retainer, Jared Hester, bearing multiple trays of refreshments between them.

“Oh?” Regis prompted as the trays were set down, and he eagerly snatched up one of the finger sandwiches.

Cor eyed him carefully, had he lost weight again? Holding the Wall was incredibly taxing, but the King seemed to be managing it well enough for now, if needing to eat considerably more than he once did (Prometheus and his fiancée, the Head Chef Demeter Ubertas, were certainly enjoying the increased workload – were most of his energy not expended on the Wall, they would have been forced to _roll_ their King to the Throne room in the mornings).

“Yes,” the Scientia began once he took a seat, “Young Ani's development is unusually advanced, and swift as well. Much of what I have observed correlates to accounts depicting children with uncommonly gifted mental acumen,” he explained carefully, and completely incomprehensibly as far as Cor was concerned. He stared at the older man, awaiting further explanation, or at least clarification. The blond's mouth twitched a little in an understanding smile before smoothing out once more, “Simply put, I believe Anima may be a child genius.”

Regis dropped his sandwich.

Cor just stared some more.

 

* * *

 

It wasn't long after Gladio was born that Prometheus and Demeter got married at long last. Regis officiated for them in the quiet little ceremony, they had opted to marry in the Church of Eos, the only still standing structure dedicated to the Astral Goddess of the Dawn whom perished in the Solheim Wars millennia ago. Prometheus' older brother, Caleo, Clarus, and Cor stood as Prometheus' Best Men, Antheia as Maid of Honour with Demeter's younger sisters Iris and Clio, along with her bestfriend Aulea acting as her bridesmaids, and Anima as their Ring Bearer.

The wedding photographer was very kind, and very skilled at that. One of Cor's favourite pictures from the event was Ani in his smart little suit, powder blue tie to match his eyes, both arms wrapped around baby Gladio in his matching powder blue onesie, whiskey brown eyes wide, one hand shoved in his mouth, as the two of them watched the Bride and Groom's first dance in the beautiful garden they arranged for the reception.

His personal favourites aside, the true gem of the photo collection (aside from the sheer _happiness_ radiating out of every picture Prometheus and Demeter took together), was the utterly _poleaxed_ expression on Regis' face when the bride's bestfriend snatched the cake knife from him before he could cut a wedge out of the wedding cake ahead of the couple (he had been unaware of the tradition, but that hadn't saved him from the tiny woman's wrath as she swatted at him with her bouquet and banished him back to Clarus and Caleo, both of whom were crying with laughter).

It was to no one's surprise that Regis started to _pine_ after the dark haired woman who had ' _the prettiest blue eyes he'd ever seen_ '.

As his personal bodyguard though, while it may have been no surprise, it was _very_ disgusting for Cor.

Furniture and a pain in his ass aside, Regis was also rather like an older brother (as well as being his King), which made his Six Damned _mooning_ a horrific thing to experience when he was the only other person around for his King to talk to about it.

Did he really have to gush about her all the time when he was there? It was almost enough to drive him to drink, but the very intelligent and impressionable little boy he had waiting for him at home stopped the thought before it was even a serious consideration. Ani had always been a quiet child, unsurprising given how Cor himself was as well, but not it seemed as though his baby was trying to become just as stoic as he himself, and Cor didn't know what to do about that. Was Ani too young for serious talks about personality and behaviour, about responsibility and personal desires? He was smart, breath-takingly so for such a young little thing according to Prometheus's tests, but that didn't mean his son was able to understand things he had no reference for.

He tried anyway.

Anima listed carefully, as always, but seemed confused. “Is it not okay to be like you?” his baby asked, bewildered.

Cor kissed his forehead, the two of them cuddled up on his rocking chair, “I don't want another me,” he assured his son, gently stroking his hair, “I'd be far happier with an Ani over another Cor,” he explained, nuzzling the side of his son's head, feeling little hands touching his chin and jaw.

The distinction seemed to confuse the child further, and he went quiet, a small frown creasing his features as he mulled it over. Cor let him. He would figure it out eventually.

 

* * *

 

Demeter fell pregnant midway through May, a week after Regis quietly informed his nearest and dearest that Aulea had agreed to be his fiancée.

It was a joyous time.

If Cor didn't have an apartment filled with women and babies that actually had nothing to do with him. How was this his life now? He had known as early on as fifteen that he would never marry, he had intended to never have children either, but, well, whatever mistakes that were made with, on, or by Desino ensured that did not go as planned. He couldn't bring himself to regret it, Ani was the brightest light of his whole life, he loved his son with his whole heart and soul. But somehow through him, his flat became pregnant mamas and papas central.

He couldn't even hide with Regis to escape the happy couples and their children anymore, because he was _one of them_.

He had been betrayed.

Ani's eagerness to meet a new baby sibling did little more than make him resigned to the continued intrusions in future. At least one of them was happy with all this nonsense.

 

* * *

 

Ignis Scientia was born in early February the next year, mere weeks before the Royal Wedding of Regus Lucis Caelum to Aulea Praecisus.

With so public an event, everyone was forced to be on their best behaviour, and the children were not allowed to attend. Something that the toddler Gladio had _howled_ blue murder over – he did not want to be separated from his mother who was forced to attend as the Lady Amicitia, and four year old Anima had gone very small and quiet over as he held baby Ignis on the sofas, and eyed their Crownsguard babysitter dubiously.

Ani was not very impressed with their guard, and that was never more apparent when, several hours later, Cor returned with Antheia and Prometheus to find the guard they posted to them _outside_ the room looking nervous. Apparently his son had asked the guard to fetch him some more wet wipes to clean the boys up, and then proceeded to barricade the door as soon as the man left. He hadn't wanted to break the door down and traumatise the children with a show of force.

It was only when Cor called through the wood that Ani opened the door. He hadn't barricaded it at all. He'd unscrewed the handle and removed the mechanism that pulled back the latch when the handle was turned, and shoved one of Gladio's toy-cars in there so that the door handle couldn't be used before wedging a chair under it as well for extra security.

He had the two babies on the opposite side of the room behind sofa in a nest of blankets, Gladio was sleeping soundly, while Ignis was whimpering unhappily – at least until Ani picked him back up.

“Why?” Cor asked bluntly, completely bewildered by the strange turn of behaviour. Ani wrinkled his nose and looked away, shifting his grip on Ignis to let the baby's father collect him, he mumbled something unhappily that no one particularly caught and shifted his feet. “Anima, explain yourself,” he demanded quietly, kneeling down to be eye-level with his four year old.

Ani's lips pressed together before he glanced up at him, and then at the doorway where the Guard was nowhere to be seen. “He glared,” the child admitted slowly, “Like we were nothing, less than. Like....” he clearly struggled to find the words, scowling unhappily as he glanced over his shoulder to where the babies were being checked over by their parents, and Cor felt a small surge of pride because instead of being scared of whatever it was that upset him, he found a solution that kept them all safe. Far safer than a four year old should have been able to manage in all honesty.

“Did he touch you, say anything?” he asked solemnly.

Ani wrinkled his nose, “Not to us. He said bad things about Uncle Regis to his friend at the door after I locked it. It was... A bad feeling. The look in his eyes. I didn't like it,” he said firmly, frowning at his father, “Don't leave us with him again.”

Cor huffed a small smile, scooping him up much like the other parents in the room, “Sure.”

 

* * *

 

With the incident at Regis' wedding in mind, Cor began to teach his son Self Defence not long after, reasoning that he would feel more confident and secure with unknowns around if he knew he had a means to protect himself – or those he deemed his to be protected.

He didn't think twice when his son took to learning all that he had to offer with a single minded furore. Ani had always been dedicated, determined. His early mastery of his body only highlighted this. He clearly found it more engaging and interesting than his other lessons, though he had a strange interest in both History and Geography, pouring over every scrap of information he could find.

For Anima though, it was like the beat of a wardrum in his mind, the bone deep thrum that blossomed in his head when he looked at that Guard and knew the man hated them. It was how he looked at his father and knew when he'd had a bad day, or a good one, when he needed peace and quiet, and when he needed a hug and a distraction.

He knew.

He had to protect them.

Had to protect his Dad, who really didn't _need_ protecting physically, but got so sad sometimes that Ani worried anyway.

Had to protect Uncle Regis who was an utter _dork_ who tripped over his feet whenever Auntie Aulea smiled at him, who thought cake was good enough for dinner (Dad nearly took his hand off with one of the kitchen knives for daring to presume that he couldn't cook, excuse you, _he_ was able to take care of himself and his son without help, _thank you_ ).

Had to protect Uncle Clarus and Auntie Antheia who were so busy and tired that sometimes they missed really obvious things that they _should_ have noticed – like the toys at the top of the stairs that someone could have slipped on and gotten hurt.

Had to protect the babies, Gladdy and Iggy who were so small and helpless that it almost physically hurt him in his chest to think of what could happen to them if someone didn't like them.

It wasn't like before, this time, the things he had to protect were personal.

Harry Potter had failed, Anima Leonis would not.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S'up sluts and slutettes and slutees and nonslutterinos. In otherwords, hello everyone.
> 
> Chapter one(Or two if you want to be pedantic) is HERE. Most of Ani's upbringing will be done in drabble format, as I literally only have snippets for it and this fic is gunna be LOOOONG.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry, this shit is going to be Slow Burn. So slowburn it's worse than a beef crockpot stew made with Christmas in mind. Pining, all the fucking pining. It's going to be beautiful and painful.


	3. Chapter 2

 

A blasting curse winged the doorframe, shattering it into devastating splinters of rock and stone, forcing him to dive to one side before he could get through and roll to the side, trapped within the chamber as he turned and made for the third exit on the right.

“I FOUND HIM!” one of the Death Eaters shouted gleefully. Harry shot a Hysteria Hex at him as he bolted for the doorway, it hit, and he _ran_ – the sound of maniacal cackling chasing his heels.

Which way, which way?!

Left – he could have sworn they'd come this way the first time!

Right – a t-junction, go left – no good, no _good!_

Everything looked the same, this place was a damn _maze_!

Another left – no! Death Eaters that way!

He wheeled around, lungs burning, legs aching as he raced further down the corridor and shot around a corner. He spotted a door at the end of the corridor, it was familiar! He'd been here before! The exit maybe?

He slammed against it, hands desperately scrabbling at the handle, shouting and laughter behind him, his magic surged and the lock clicked open in his hands –

“POTTER!”

he didn't wait.

He threw his whole weight into yanking the door open and dove in – straight into the _burning_ light.

And knew no more.

 

* * *

 

Ani woke with a gasp and a jolt in his own bed, in his room, at home, his breath stuttering in his chest as the last cobwebs of the dream, the memory, still stubbornly clung to him. He rubbed his face, trying to get his breathing under control, and glanced to the small digital clock on his bedside. Five fifty six, am. Dad would be up by now.

Slowly, the five year old crawled out of bed, quietly shuffling out of his room to the toilet just down the hall to sort himself out, and wash his face.

He hated that memory, that nightmare. Much of what he remembered as Harry, his old self, he hated. Ani didn't like remembering when he slept under a ratty urine stained bedsheet that belonged to Dudley once upon a time ago, curled up in a cupboard in the dark, going hungry while cooking a feast he would never taste, working his fingers sore on cleaning kitchen sides and bathroom sinks only to get a slap and a sharp command to hurry it up. Didn't want to remember being cold, alone, and frightened, at his weakest and most helpless.

And he didn't have to anymore, did he?

Now he had his father. He had Cor, who never lied to him, even when it would have been easier or the subject was hard, who hugged him tightly and kissed his forehead, cheeks, and hands as though he were precious. Whose words were few, and his smiles fewer, but never _ever_ made him feel unwanted or unloved _ever._

He had Uncle Clarus, Auntie Theia, and Gladdy. He had Uncle Regis, and Auntie Aulea. He had Uncle Theus, and Aunt Demeter, and Iggy.

He had all these people, and they loved him and cared about him. He was... he was _happy_.

The five year old paused in the act of washing his hands, turning the realisation over in his head this way and that.

Yes. That was true. He was actually _happy_. Not content, or relieved. But actually happy.

He hadn't always been, even in this life. He had been _confused_ and _scared_ for so long, because it wasn't as though he slid wet and screaming into the world fully aware of his past life and all it entailed, with a fully formed personality and mind. No. He was just as blind, ignorant, and helpless as any other infant. A blank sheet of paper laid over his former life instead of a fresh book entirely. All he had to do was trace those lines, and colour it in. Bit by bit as he grew and got older, as his body grew and his mind, more came back to him. It was frustrating because he _knew_ that this wasn't right. That he should move like _this_ in order to walk, only to have his body not cooperate. That when he spoke it sounded _wrong_ or he couldn't move his mouth and tongue right to make it so. It was how he looked at things and knew that the chair was too high for him to get into without help, or that he shouldn't put that in his mouth because it would hurt him even though his gums _ached_ so bad. That his father was tired from work all day, so he should be quiet and not make it worse for him.

It was a hundred little things, and a lot of nightmares.

Nightmares he took pains to keep quiet, not to let his tired lonely father see or worry about because he had enough to be getting on with as Uncle Regis' personal bodyguard, as 'the Marshal' amidst the Crownsguard. He didn't question where his mother was, he was scared of the answer, but in the end, he didn't want to hurt his father by reminding him of her absence just in case.

“You alright in there?” his father asked, waiting just outside the slightly ajar doorway, not peeking in. Ani liked that. His father respected his privacy even though at his young age it was concern for his safety that had his father insist on the door not being closed despite his misgivings about it. They talked, as strange and novel as it was for an adult in either life to take him seriously when he expressed a discomfort, and they found a way to keep them both happy. The former Gryffindor had to wonder whether his father would have been as accommodating if he had been a 'normal' child, and even at times how 'Harry Potter' would have been if he had been raised by this man. The first he tried not to entertain, the second was hours of amusement as he contemplated how Petunia and Vernon would have reacted to the stern Marshal on their doorstep.

“Yes,” he said, hopping down off the stool to dry his hands. Coming out, he peered up at his stern faced father, the man didn't smile but his eyes were soft and that was how Ani read him – it was always in his eyes. He wasn't hard to read at all, not the way some people said he was. The five year old held his arms up, and his father picked him up without hesitation or comment as he wrapped his arms around the man's neck and snuggled in close. “I decided I was happy,” he informed the man matter of factly. That was the nice thing about his Dad, he could tell him anything, and he would just accept it.

“Is that so? I'm glad,” the twenty-four year old agreed as he took them both back to the kitchen, “Cereal or toast?” he asked as he adjusted his grip and began to pull out cups.

Ani thought about it, “Cereal, please,” he decided, it would be faster to make and easier to clean up after.

“Ready for training today?” his father asked easily, holding him up on his hip with one hand, while his other casually went about gathering everything they needed for breakfast.

The child nodded, reaching out to collect their cutlery and bowls so his father wasn't forced to carry _everything_ by himself (he would have gotten down but now that he was up here, his father wasn't going to put him down unless he wanted to, or Ani said he wanted to get down. He would never admit it, but his father was almost as clingy as he was).

“Yes. Auntie Theia is going to show me knives today,” he explained, a little excited despite his efforts to stay quiet so as not to annoy. His father smiled though, pleased, so he relaxed a little and let himself grin.

With one foot, his Dad kicked out one of the chairs and swung him down onto it by the scruff of his nightclothes, he couldn't help but laugh a little, prompting another smile, “Down you go. Bowl?” his father asked. The former Gryffindor quickly set his dish on the table to be filled.

It was as he was pouring some milk into it, his father's hand taking most of the weight of the jug as he stood on the chair to do so as carefully as possible, that the phone rang. His father didn't sigh, but his eyes shuttered for a moment as if he wanted to. He waited until Anima had enough milk before putting the jug down before going to answer though.

“Regis, what is – calm do- ...” His father frowned, lips twisting into a distinctly unhappy grimace of annoyance, and Ani had to hide his smile behind his juice. Only Uncle Regis could make him pull that kind of face, usually by doing something silly. He twitched then, standing up straight, and making Ani pause as his eyes went wide. Almost too quickly to notice, his father glanced at him before he pulled the phone from his ear, stared at it for a moment, before returning it and asking, “Can you repeat that?”

He was then forced to yank it from his head as Uncle Regis started shouting on the other end. He didn't _sound_ angry, more, scared? And confused?

Dad pinched the bridge of his nose, “Shouldn't you be calling Clarus about this? I wasn't even _there_ for – Yes, I know, of course – but – Regis – would you let me fin- ...” His father gave up talking, and stared blandly at the wall while he obviously waited for Uncle Regis to run out of steam. Ani ate his cereal, watching the incident with a hidden grin. He liked to imagine that Harry's parents were like this when they were alive, funny, and weird, and a little dumb sometimes.

His father blinked slowly, “You done?” he asked dully after a while.

Ani finished his cereal and got down from the table, he went into the kitchen and got his father's half-drunk mug of ebony and, with both hands, making sure to position his fingers where he wouldn't get burned, carefully carried it to him in the hallway. His Dad, braced the phone against his shoulder and took the mug, ruffling his hair with a smile before gesturing him to go and get dressed before he stood back up.

“Would you like to borrow my books?” Ani could hear his father asking blandly as he rushed back to his bedroom in order to get his training clothes. Auntie Theia was a very small and pretty lady, but only an idiot would assume that she was weak. The only reason she had so much difficulty in getting Gladdy was because she had gotten hurt a lot back when she was in the army, she knew how to fight and fight probably better than her husband who was Uncle Regis' 'Shield' – whatever that meant. (It confused him a little because Shield suggested protector, but as far as he knew, his father was Uncle Regis' personal bodyguard so.... what did that make Uncle Clarus as the 'Shield'? Was that just the public bodyguard who got to wear the fancy robe and sit in the boring meetings, while the real guard stood to one side all but invisible until they were needed?)

“Well, he doesn't waste any time,” Dad complained as he leaned against the doorframe. Ani tilted his head at him curiously as he paused, one sock half on.

“Aunt Aulea is pregnant. Looks like you're going to get another little brother or sister.”

 

* * *

 

“Eighteen – nineteen – _twenty!_ Well done, Ani!” Auntie Theia cheered, clapping her hands as he practically collapsed on the mats after doing push-ups. He still wasn't used to training like this, but he was getting better. He wasn't even able to do _five_ when he first started. “On your feet, sweetheart, cool down stretches and then we can have lunch,” the Lady Amicitia declared with a smile as her husband appeared in the doorway, an almost three year old Gladdy attached to his hand, and Prometheus with Iggy perched on his hip.

“Y-yes Auntie,” the former Gryffindor panted as he wobbly pushed himself up and began to stretch the way she had shown him when he first started. He had done this set three times every day for almost a year since they first started training.

“What's the occasion?” she asked cheerfully as she got to her feet and approached the men, leaving Ani to do his stretches. She trusted him to do the whole set, and he didn't want to let her down – and after the first time he tried to skip them, _he learned better_.

Clarus grunted unhappily, “Regis is completely beside himself. I can't get a straight word out of him. Can you keep an eye on Gladio and Ignis while Prometheus and I knock some sense into him?” he asked in long suffering patience as he glanced back to the blond Scientia who wrinkled his nose delicately and glanced away.

Antheia happily collected the two children, “Of course, we'll be stopping for lunch before beginning again, the boys can watch Ani's training and get an idea of what awaits them,” she chirped enthusiastically.

Prometheus' face was the perfect picture of resigned, “I shall tell Demeter to prepare for the nightmares and mental trauma,” he informed her flatly, prompting a bell-like laugh from the whiskey eyed woman.

“If they _aren't_ traumatised then they haven't learned a thing,” she declared before glancing over to the eldest of their children who was beginning his beleaguered laps around the training room, she chuckled and leaned in a little towards the Scientia, “Think you could get your lovely wife to send up a fruit salad? Ani's been such a good boy, and he does love her fruit salads,” she added in a whispered undertone.

He glanced to the five year old and nodded, “Of course, Antheia. I'm sure Demeter would be thrilled.”

When the men left, she found herself a good spot on the training mats to sit and wait for her student to finish his laps and the final segment of his stretches as she bounced young Ignis on her leg, “My oh my, I do wonder what's gotten Reggie so wound up,” she mused out loud.

“I'm – going – to get – a new brother – or sister!” Ani announced, panting as he hopped up a little and waved an arm excitedly.

Antheia spluttered, “Cor's pregnant?” she blurted, making the boy stumble, and shoot her a very bewildered and offended look.

“........Dad isn't a girl,” he reminded her pointedly as he slowed to a walk.

She shook her head as Gladio giggled, and Ignis hrmph'd in her lap, kicking his legs out. “I know that I just – I didn't even realise he was _seeing_ anyone!” she explained with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Ani tilted his head, his frown deepening, “Dad... sees just fine? He isn't blind,” he added almost indignantly. He knew full well what she meant, but surely she would have realised that between the Crownsguard, him, and babysitting Uncle Regis that Dad barely had time to read the morning paper (usually in the evening at that), there was no chance he would have the opportunity or time to deal with girls. Plus, he had been calling both Gladdy and Iggy his little brothers since day one, and Uncle Regis was a newly wed. He knew she wasn't slow, but it was surprising how the idea of Auntie Aulea being pregnant hadn't clicked in her head yet.

He sighed as he knelt down and began his stretches, “Uncle Regis, Auntie,” he told her in exasperation, watching as she paused, turned the thought over, correlated it to their previous conversation, and _lit up_.

There we go.

 

* * *

 

Security was tripled as Queen Aulea's pregnancy was announced, it meant that despite his coming and going from the citadel with his father, he didn't get to see either Gladdy or Iggy much anymore, the two children remaining in their own homes for the most part as their parents took it in turns to attend to their duties. The only time he tended to see them both was during important functions where it was all hands on deck, and he became the designated babysitter in one of the small ante-chambers on the upper levels.

Auntie Aulea and Uncle Regis sometimes snuck away from whatever it was they were doing to at least peek in on them. Gladdy had developed a game of slapping people's feet, though it was only a good game if they tried not to let him, not many of the adults appreciated it as they were scared of stepping on his little hands. Iggy however seemed to be as gifted as Ani when it came to his development, just opposite in that he had already begun talking, single words with a lot of baby-babble, but not yet figured out how to walk, or even stand for long.

Ani passed his time when he wasn't learning weapons from Auntie Theia reading every book he could get his hands on about magic and the mythology of this world – though he supposed it wasn't mythology when the gods themselves actually _did_ exist, and interfered with the world in what ways they deemed appropriate.

Sometimes he found himself with a lap full of Iggy whom he took to reading to, the child propped up against his chest, with a finger under the words so that he could follow them as he read. Gladio often got too bored with the history books and the Cosmogeny magazines that Ani dug out from the royal libraries and would show up with his _own_ books for Ani to read to him, the only downside to that was that Gladio was a _wriggler_ , and he had a bony butt. Not to mention the stories that he preferred didn't interest Iggy, so he ended up with one very wriggly toddler, and one very _bored_ one as well. The pinching and slapping fights that sometimes broke out on his lap were very annoying – it was a good thing those two were so abominably cute otherwise he might have been tempted to dangle them by their feet somewhere. Not that it would do much, the one time he tried with Gladdy when the brat had been particularly annoying he just laughed the whole time, completely trusting him not to let go or put him in danger and, really, how could Ani stay angry at that?

The day Auntie Aulea went into labour, Ani found himself sat up waiting for his Dad well past his bed time, getting more and more worried when he didn't come home.

Six o'clock came and went, his father didn't come, and it was time for dinner. When seven came, he decided to make sandwiches for them both, because if _he_ was hungry, then surely his Dad would be as well when he came home. Eight came and went. Ani sat in the hallway, watching the door, waiting for the phone to ring. Neither of which happened.

By the time his father did appear, he was half-asleep, curled up in the middle of the floor. He was only dimly aware of the light changing as the front door opened, and the way his father paused in the doorway when he spotted him. A faint sigh brushed the edges of his hearing a moment before the sound of bootzips hissed through the air, two soft thumps, and then footsteps. He sniffed and cracked his eyes open, flinching and whimpering at the light before his father knelt in front of him, hands sliding under him.

“Sorry I'm late,” he murmured quietly as Ani turned and curled into him, humming sleepily. His father kissed the side of his head and carried him to his room, making sure to tuck him into bed before kissing him again.

The next morning, he found himself being quickly ushered out and to the hospital, with nothing more than a cryptic 'there's someone you need to meet'. It didn't twig until he saw the hospital out of the car windows what it meant.

“That – it's too soon!” he blurted in distress, twisting in his seat to look at his father, “Is Auntie Aulea okay?” he asked, frightened.

“She's tired. You're right, seemed as though Noctis didn't want to wait anymore. He absolutely had to come and see the rest of the world yesterday, hence my being late. I'm sorry, Ani, next time I'll ask someone to look in on you,” he promised as they pulled into a parking space not far from the separate maternity building.

Ani found himself being picked up once again, despite probably being too big for it at six years now, and carried briskly through the reception and straight into the pale pink and yellow corridors of the building, past women and nurses and tired looking men and excited children, and tutting older women, through a set of double doors that had a pair of Crownsguard stood to attention. They saluted as they passed, and Ani was allowed back down onto his own feet, though Dad kept hold of his hand as they made their way down the private rooms to a completely innocuous one halfway down the hallway.

Auntie Aulea was strangely pale as she smiled at them from her spot on the bed, “Morning, Cor. Has your Dad told you the good news, Anima?” she asked kindly as he carefully tipped forward and made his way over as she lifted a hand.

He let her pet his head and nodded, “Yes. Are you alright?” he asked worriedly, eyeing her carefully, “It's too soon. Did something go wrong?”

She smiled, “You're lovely. I'm just tired sweetheart. Noctis was very determined to get out here and meet everyone, he fought me every step of the way,” she laughed softly gesturing to the small cot on the otherside of her bed.

Carefully rounding the bed, he stood on tip toes in order to see inside the plastic case and felt his heart break.

The baby was so _small_. He was hooked up to monitors, a tube went into his nose, stickers and clips were everywhere and a red light glowed above him. The case only had a few small holes for hands to fit in. There was no way to lift the baby out.

It wasn't a cot. It was an incubator.

“Oh honey, he's okay, I promise,” Aulea soothed, struggling to get up only to have Dad gesture her to relax as he strode over and hugged him. It wasn't until Dad started wiping his face that he even realised he'd started to cry. Distantly he could hear the adults talking, his father apologising for bringing him here so soon, Auntie Aulea dismissing it saying that she knew he was sensitive and that she was sorry for distressing him like this.

“He's too small,” he heard himself hiccup even as he buried his face into his father's shoulder and began to cry in earnest, babies that small, so small even _he_ could have held them in his hands, didn't have very good odds of surviving.

Dad rubbed his back, “That's why you have to take care of him, Ani,” he explained gently, “Uncle Regis wanted _you_ to be Noct's Shield.” Anima shook his head against his father's shoulder, sobbing about how Noct was too little and what if he died? Babies that small were too fragile. He didn't see the small smile his father huffed as he looked up at Aulea's teary expression, “The Doctors here would _never_ let that happen, Ani. See, he's in an incubator and he's got oxygen and all kinds of monitors. If there was something wrong, we'd all know, and the Doctors and Nurses would make sure he was well taken care of. But when he gets out, it's going to be your job to make sure he's alright, that he doesn't get hurt.”

It took a while for his tears to run their course, two lives or not, he was still only six, and had just been confronted with the realisation that his youngest brother might die before he had even lived. But once they dried, and woke up (seeing as he had literally cried himself to sleep, exhausted from the emotional whiplash of the morning), Auntie Aulea showed him how to put his hands into the incubator to touch little Noct without disturbing any of his wires or tubes while his Dad went out to go and get some ebony for them and call Uncle Regis.

Little Noctis didn't so much as wrinkle his nose when Ani stroked his cheek. “I'll protect you,” he whispered fiercely, “I promise.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone still confused: Anima does remember being Harry, but he hadn't been completely aware of it entirely. Bits and pieces came back to him, he remembered doing things, but like when you remember stuff from your childhood its more you remember OF it than actually remembering the event itself outside snapshots.


	4. Chapter 3

Queen Aulea.... never really got better after the difficult birth. She didn't get _worse_ per-say, the doctors at the hospital were too good for that, but she never truly recovered her strength – she was just better at hiding it than most were at noticing, and there was very little that Cor didn't notice. Whether Regis noticed or not was another matter, one he didn't have the chance to broach with his friend because the man was constantly hovering over his newborn son, and thus his wife as well. Meaning privacy to talk was impossible.

Ignis began to train under various tutors to be an appropriate retainer to the young Prince.

Gladio started the same beginners' training that Ani did over a year ago.

And Ani continued his training with increased furore when he wasn't getting into fights with young Noct's nannies and caretakers over whom was responsible for the baby. It was a good thing he was still adorable even as a six year old, because from anyone else, it wouldn't have been nearly as well received.

Cor half wanted to kick himself for his poor choice of wording when he told his son that he would be responsible for taking care of Noctis, he had taken those words entirely too literally and come to the conclusion that he not only had to _protect_ the child, but also feed, change, bathe, and cuddle him. At this point, Cor was fairly sure Noct was more used to Ani's touch than he was to his own mother. (He could only be grateful that his son didn't even con _sider_ asking him for younger siblings, he seemed quite pleased enough with the three he already had from Clarus, Prometheus, and now Regis.)

Then the war picked up.

Which lead Cor to now, on an infiltration mission to Niflheim's Gralea labs based on Intel received from Verstael Besithia's labs and one of their deep-cover spies. A spy that had gone dark not long after their final report. Magitek troopers, daemons, something about a God-Killer, and a _vanishing_ disease being researched. For the record, he did NOT like this mission, nor the things he had to do in order to get _into_ the Gralea labs. Originally he had intended on getting the man drunk and lifting his pass keys while he was unconscious, but then he started _hitting_ on him and.... it would be easier....

He would be taking at _least_ eight baths before he touched his son. His skin still crawled with the memory of just how far he was willing to go. Regis would never hear of this, or Clarus. They still looked at him and saw the thirteen year old he _used_ to be when they first met, the fifteen year old covered in cuts and bruises, shamed and defeated for the first time in his life, the nineteen year old holding his new born son as though he were made of spun-sugar, wide eyed and out of his depth but so very willing to learn how to swim just for the tiny life in his hands.

The last thing he expected to find when he stepped into the labs, were incubators filled with babies. All of them identical, right down to the little red birthmark just beneath the infant's left shoulderblade that looked like a smeared wing.

His heart dropped like a stone.

Children. A room filled with **babies** in tubes. Silent and dull eyed. Hooked up to a hundred and one sensors, their tiny bodies held affixed in place by metal harnesses that engulfed their entire pelvis. He wouldn't have realised any of them were even alive if not for the clear displays at the bottom of every tube that detailed a heartbeat.

Babies. Infants.

_What the fuck were Niflheim doing?_

An alarm sounded.

It was 3am, the base was largely deserted save for the night security which he had already dealt with, Megitek troopers, also dealt with, and a single team of scientists that he had left undisturbed and ignorant of his passing by locking the door to their room. One of the security guards must have woken. Or the scientists found another way out and discovered the wrecks of the troopers he left behind himself. No matter.

He darted to the nearest pod, a silent infant peering up at him. He couldn't figure out how to open the damn thing, it wasn't like there was a convenient 'open tube' tab in a drop down menu on the display. He drew his sword and sliced it off.

The infant wailed, the first sound he'd heard since he came into this room, and he couldn't even begin to describe the relief he felt to hear it as he set his blade into one hand and reached into the tube. The baby was too young to do much more than scream and wriggle as he eased the poor thing from the harness – looked like it was the thing handling the infant's waste disposal as well as monitoring his vitals.

He tucked the little thing up against his chest, and cast a helpless look at the other stone silent children in the room, none of whom has so much as scrunched their little noses at the noise, nor looked at him in askance.

Astrals forgive him, he couldn't save them all. And it tore something deep inside of him to turn on heel and leave.

That could have been his son in there. Had things been different. Had his great grandfather not fled Niflheim years ago when the war first began.

He cut down the first scientist that crossed him, and fled the labs, baby squalling into his neck, his bag filled with papers, records, and stolen information. It was a long walk back to Lucis. If he could get to Tenebrae, then getting passage to Leide via ship wouldn't be too difficult, if he moved quickly.

He tucked the baby into his coat, and gently rocked him into fitful sleep as he ran.

If he ever met Aldercrop face to face, or that son of a daemon whore Besithia, not even Bahamut himself would be able to save them from his blade.

 

* * *

 

He named the baby Prompto.

During the return trip to Lucis, now that the babe was free of his metal confinement, developed as an ordinary baby should have. And was incredibly quick to smile once he figured out how. It would break his heart a little to part with him, but Cor knew well that he wasn't in a position to care for another child – no matter how much Ani would have been absolutely _thrilled_ by the new addition. He was a fair parent, he knew that, but because he had raised Ani, he also knew that he was not capable of caring for an infant again. His work was too demanding with the increasing hostilities, Ani was growing like a weed, the apartment didn't have enough space for another little person, and on top of that, he knew full well he had not been a good parent to his son in his early years, though, by Carbuncle, he had tried. It was only Anima's own intelligence, his perception, and maturity that allowed him to develop so well despite his unskilled and bungling care.

A baby born into such a place as the Gralean labs deserved a loving family able to support him _properly_. One that could not only devote the time, but also the attention he needed to him.

Regis already knew about the baby, he had asked repeatedly during their phonecalls why Cor didn't take him personally, eventually to the point where he simply stopped answering his King (and was instead the recipient of many sulky text messages and incorrectly typed emojis). Clarus promised to look into an appropriate foster family, one that Antheia would be vetting before his arrival.

He also received a few messages from Prometheus during his trip. Mostly consisting of Ani and the other children. His son was _hovering_ over Noctis who looked to finally be the appropriate size and weight a baby should have been for his age. The nannies were still in their amiable 'war' with his son over the young Prince's care, and even the toddlers had gotten involved, insisting on helping Ani whenever he decided it was his turn to take care of Noct – the two of them fetching whatever he asked for, sleeping in piles together on the same blanket as the Prince. It was tooth rotteningly adorable, and part of him wanted to add the little blond baby to the group, but also feared it as well.

What had Niflheim already done to him? He possessed strange symmetrical markings on his biceps just below the shoulder, he had strange tattoos implanted on his wrists that did not look as a fresh tattoo should have, and neither warped with the shifting of skin like one should have either.

He had looked over the research that he stole, but the best he could glean was something about daemons and magitek.

That was reason enough to keep the baby from the Prince, and his son, until they could be certain they weren't bringing a threat into the heart of their country. Still.

The Leonis family had always been blessed with good instincts, and an uncanny luck to survive even the worst odds thrown against them. Those instincts told him that Prompto belonged with his kids. But his instincts weren't always right, and he didn't have the right to risk other people's children based on his own gut feelings. Nor his son. Never his son.

 

* * *

 

Ani did not get to meet Prompto, nor learn of his existence. As soon as Cor returned to Insomnia, he handed the baby over to Antheia and Clarus who had made arrangements to foster him with a pair of newly wed Crownsguard who were looking to settle down and start their own family. They were at the very least willing to take in the newborn and raise him as their own.

Cor went home and slept for sixteen hours, and woke up to find his son fast asleep against his side, and Demeter in his living room with a good hot meal waiting for him, and the first mug of decent ebony he'd had since he left.

“You're an angel,” he told her honestly.

“So I've been told,” she agreed modestly as she ruffled Ani's hair.

His son didn't ask where he'd been, or why he left, he just clung to him tightly, and told him everything that had happened in his absence from Uncle Regis slipping on a wet floor and landing on his butt in front of the Minister of Accordo and saying a rude word loudly enough that she burst out laughing. Ignis and Gladio getting into a fight about something and no longer talking to each other for whatever reason, but forgetting about it occasionally, only to remember later and decide they didn't like each other again. Antheia nearly getting into a fistfight with one of the Ministers and needing to be held back by her husband while Aulea laughed until she hurt herself and needed to go and lie down again.

He spent the next two days making up for his absence by being entirely at his son's beck and call, not that he took advantage of it at all. He just wanted to cuddle, and was still small and light enough that Cor had no problem carrying him around the flat if he wished. He did, however, enjoy it when his son insisted on learning more swordplay.

They spent a long afternoon in the training hall at the citadel where Cor ran him through everything Antheia had taught him, and then took over from there. Neatening up this and that, showing him how if he angled that blow like _this_ , he could take a step here and lead immediately into this attack. Ani _drank_ it all in, his pale blue eyes sharp and intelligent as he absorbed everything he could and applied it with increasing accuracy and effectiveness. Going through the motions again, and again, and again, and _again_ , until he thought he had it down pat, and then attacking his father with it to try it in action. His bloodthirsty blue eyed baby.

Cor huffed a laugh as he carried his sweaty exhausted son out of the training room, the boy fast asleep against his shoulder, dead to the world. Like a Coeurl kit after a day of menacing sabertusks for fun.

The day he was due to return to work saw Ani yet again sneaking into his bed for cuddles first thing in the morning, attempting to waylay him from returning to his duties – something Cor was only too willing to allow as he fell back asleep. Still tired, footsore, and heartbroken from his mission. He ended up being late, but it was a small price to pay as he took his son back to his lessons with Antheia, and returned to his office to find several 'Get Well Soon' cards from his men – his absence for the clandestine mission being explained away as an illness. There was very little paperwork, Clarus had taken the lion's share of it during his absence, but there was some that required his signature. All of which were quickly handled.

Once finished, he had to go and report his findings to Regis in a verbal report – there would be no paperwork record of his mission, nothing save the stolen information would be retained, and there would be no proof of his having left the country. He, as planned, left out the part about _how_ he gained access to the labs, and while Clarus narrowed his eyes suspiciously, Regis's eyes fluttered guiltily for all of a heartbeat before his face once again became carved from stone – the picture of Kingly Stoicism.

They probably guessed anyway.

Still.

He did not say anything regardless. That way they could try and convince themselves otherwise in the comfort of their own minds.

Not long after his report, he received a frazzled text from Antheia demanding to know what he had been TEACHING his Behemoth Cub, the violent little thing nearly gutted her! Her favourite training shirt was ruined. She then added in a second text that he was going to be teaching Gladio whatever it was as soon as he was six, fair was fair if she was training his son. He had to give her that one at the very least.

Aulea passed away that night.

 

* * *

 

Something in Regis broke after the loss of his beloved wife.

He stopped smiling, laughter was even rarer, he fell quiet and distant. For a time, Cor was sincerely worried that he would follow his wife, and leave his newborn son alone in a city on the verge of being torn apart. There would be people who would immediately seek to place the Ring upon the infant's finger if only for the temporary strength it would give the Wall – and very likely end the line of Lucis Caelum in the process.

It was Ani who brought him back.

Seven years old, his son snuck away one morning and made his way up to the Royal Chambers. He was a common enough face that no one even tried to stop him as he let himself into Noctis' bedroom, bathed, changed, and dressed him, and then brought him into his father's sitting room where he used the phone to call up breakfast for them all, and then woke up Regis by climbing into the bed with him, Noct wide-awake in one arm, and forcing his Uncle into cuddle time.

Cor didn't know what they talked about, whatever it was his son said, but by the time he came to collect Regis to drive him to the Priest to discuss the funerary arrangements, he found all three of them in the living room, and his King smiling for the first time in over a week as he held his son while Ani played with him, rattling toys just out of the baby's reach.

All Regis would say was that his son was strangely wise for his age.

 

* * *

 

Despite his best efforts, Regis still became withdrawn, less prone to the kind of silliness he used to indulge in, but he didn't neglect his duties, didn't fade away, he started eating properly again, he went to his meetings, he paid attention to his advisors but didn't allow them to control him, and always made time for Noctis. It was probably the best anyone was going to get out of him for at least a few years.

Noctis grew taller, and stronger.

Ignis proved himself a genius in his own right, powering ahead in his studies beyond even his tutors' wildest predictions.

Gladio grew like a weed, already the size of an eight year old despite being half the age.

Ani became more and more skilled with weaponry, pushing himself to new heights every day, sometimes worryingly so. But for all the stubbornness he inherited from his father, he seemed to have developed a friendliness that both of his parents lacked, being a cheerful happy child that was always willing to lend a hand if ever it was needed. Often times, he could be found carrying something for someone, or holding a door open, or delivering a file or a letter where it needed to go, for a week he was in the kitchens doing the washing up for Demeter when they were short-handed – earning himself fruit salads on demand for life if Demeter was as grateful as she sounded.

Then.... Ani stabbed someone.

 

* * *

 

“- Elixers are best for using as catalysts if you're wanting straight offensive magic,” Ani was explaining, sat next to little six year old Iggy on the sofa, holding a large book in front of them on the coffee table while Noctis amused himself with cars and other toys not too far away, waving a wooden chocobo around and making wooshing car noises.

“The affects change depending on the catalyst?” Ignis asked, nudging his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Ani nodded, “Yep. Straight elemancy just adds an element to your weapons, but if say you mix up fire energy with a Hi-potion, you'll end up with a Heal Cast spell. One that causes damage to your enemy at the same time as healing you,” the ten year old explained just as the door to the small sitting room clicked open.

The two boys looked up, a little surprised because no one really just _walked in_ to a room in the Citadel, there was usually a knock, or an aid who opened the door first before anyone stepped in.

The scruffy teenager in an old hoodie with a pair of knives at his waist was not what either of them expected.

The teenager's blue eyes flickered from the two on the loveseat, and slid to the four year old Noctis sat on the floor, clutching his wooden chocobo with a suspicious frown on his cute little face, and then _narrowed_.

He took one step into the room, and Ani _launched_ the heavy book his his hands straight into his face.

“GET NOCT!” the ten year old barked, already vaulting over the edge of the couch and directly at the teenager who yelped, clearly not expecting any manner of aggression from a room of children who didn't so much as come up to eye level with his nipples.

He didn't stop to see what Ignis was doing, he was a smart kid, he'd know to wait for a chance and then run.

Ani meanwhile had to deal with a teenager who had half his height on him, and again in weight.

“Wa- sto- I'm not going to- ” Ani went for everything he could reach, knees, toes, _balls_ , armpit, nipples, and when he bent down to cover himself, he went for those pretty blue eyes of his, fingers curled and hooked to _rip them the fuck out_.

The teenager squawked and yanked his head up, the former Gryffindor's fingernails opening a long thin gouge down his cheek as he moved just out of reach.

More fool him.

His hands moved away from the knives at his waist.

Ani shoved him backwards, and _grabbed one_.

“NO!”

He flipped it in his hand, stomping on the boy's foot and then – with one hand braced against the butt of the handle for extra strength – _stabbed the blade into his stomach_.

The teenager wheezed, all the air leaving him in a rush as hot red blood spilled over Ani's fingers and hands, hotter than he thought possible even as he turned his hips and dragged the blade to the left as he lunged away and out from under him.

The teenager gurgled and hit the carpet.

“Ani?” Ignis whimpered.

The ten year old shook his head, staggering away from the teenager and scooping Noctis up from Iggy's hold, there was no way he'd be able to carry a four year old and keep up.

“W-wait – ” the teenager gasped.

Ani didn't.

With the knife held in the hand that supported Noct, he grabbed Iggy with his other, the six year old staring in horror at the blood that decorated it as he dragged both of them out of the sitting room and down the corridor.

Everything was like a kicked over ant-hill.

Crownsguard were running down the corridors like chocobos without heads, shouting about intruders on the ground floor – was that teenager part of them? Ani didn't know, or care, he felt jittery, numb, everything in his head told him to get to Uncle Regis, get to Uncle Clarus, get to DAD. Protect Noctis. Because that boy took one look at him and suddenly got serious. Because there were people breaking in downstairs. And Noctis was only four and he hadn't started training and it was _Anima's job to protect him!_

“Hey!” it was the boy again, the faint glimmer of an Elixer fading from his clothing as he charged out of the room.

Ani cursed, and shoved Noctis into Iggy's arms.

“Go to Uncle Regis! He's down the hall – Council rooms! GO!” he bellowed, readying his knife as he skidded to a stop.

Ignis was in tears. “What about you?” he wailed, clutching the now full on screaming Noctis.

“GO!!” Anima roared furiously, and then lunged forward.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Current ages of the chocobros are:
> 
> Ani: Ten  
> Gladio: Seven  
> Ignis: Six  
> Noctis: Four  
> Prompto: Four(ish)


	5. Chapter 4

The last thing Regis Lucis Caelum expected when the doors to the Council chambers burst open were the twin cries of his son, wailing his little heart out, and young Ignis Scientia, in floods of tears screaming for help as he half dragged, half carried, the young Prince into the room. Immediately every adult in the room was on their feet, and Regis went _cold_ with fear and anger as the two practically fell into the arms of the nearest Minister, Lady Armaugh, mother of his old friend Weskham.

“There's a boy!” Ignis wailed, “Ani's fighting him now!”

There was blood on both of them.

“Clarus! Stay with the children!” he commanded, sprinting for the doors, feeling more than seeing Cor at his side as he ploughed through the open door, calling forth his katana from the armiger that Regis still afforded him access to.

The sound of shouting and clashing metal drew them to the scene down the corridor and around the first left.

Regis recognised the boy immediately. One of his soldiers from the newly formed Kingsglaive, the front line forces to fend of Niflheim's daemonic attacks. And, ironically enough, the subject of the very meeting that had just been interrupted. Cor twitched rapidly beside him, recognising the boy for what he was, but bristling all the same at the very real combat his ten year old son was currently engaging in.

Young Ulric was on the back foot, desperately parrying the rapid flurry of dagger strikes, dodging his feet back from kicks that would do an awful lot more damage than just bruising, his clothing was already torn open and blood-soaked, the faintest flakes of still glimmering opalescent light revealing his recent use of an Elixer. Anima was lashing out like a thing possessed, his hands and arms bloody up to the elbows, a splash of scarlet across his face as he fought with bared teeth, and every ounce of training he had been given these last six years.

Three heads and change shorter than the sixteen year old, Anima was not giving him the opportunity to retaliate, nor gain his bearings in this fight. He knew full well that if he let up for a second, he would lose what tiny sliver of advantage he had. He _needed_ to end this fight, quickly.

He saw it then, in that split second.

The teenager saw something behind him, and hesitated.

That was enough.

Anima snatched his outstretched arm, planted his shoulder into the boy's stomach and chest, and _heaved_ with everything he had. Throwing the sixteen year old over his shoulder and onto his back.

He spun in place, grasping the knife in both hands and _drove it down -_

“ANIMA!”

And stopped.

Less than an inch from the boy's eye.

The ten year old looked up, panting hard, hands eerily steady, and saw both his father and his King just down the corridor, behind them, the Ministers and Uncle Clarus, and – thank the Six, Ignis and Noctis, safe and sound. Teary, snotty, but safe.

“It's fine, Ani, stand down,” Uncle Regis commanded gently, “He's not a danger.”

For a moment, he debated arguing the issue, the boy had burst into the room and – Ani had thrown the book at him first.... He grimaced, and jerkily snatched the knife away and staggered backwards, away from the boy, backing away towards his father.

“Are you well, Nyx Ulric?” Uncle Regis asked steadily as the teenager gasped for air and went limp for all of a moment.

He flopped a hand, “I – yes, as well as I – I'm okay, Your Majesty,” he managed to get out, a little at a loss for words as he pushed himself upright, blue eyes flickering across the large group at the end of the corridor, and the ten year old, still holding one of his knives, eyeing him warily, a man that looked _very_ much like him coming up behind him – a man he was able to recognise as the Marshal of the Crownsguard. Oh. Suddenly that explained everything.

He laughed a little, pointing his knife at the kid, “You – you're _good_. That was awesome,” he couldn't help but compliment as he pushed himself to his feet, grinning as the kid twitched a little in bewilderment, and then went pink. He grinned at the boy as he stowed his knife, watching as the Marshal placed a hand on his son's shoulder, the boy stiffening and looking up a moment before his father had both arms wrapped around him in a tight hug. He never would have pegged the Marshal as, a) a parent, or b) an affectionate one, but the ten year old showed absolutely no hesitation in returning the hug.

The two little ones he had inadvertantly terrified abandoned the safety of the Shield's robes to immediately rush to their protector, twin cries of 'Ani' accompanying the sudden tangle of limbs as the two managed to crowd their way into the hug, crying and blubbering about how frightened they were, how they went and got everyone, was he alright, did he get hurt?

“Someone call the Crownsguard,” Madam Porpentina commanded, eyeing Nyx with anger.

“That will not be necessary,” the King assured her with a calming gesture, not looking away from the children as the Marshal pressed a kiss to his son's forehead, and then rescued him from the two younger children, scooping them up, one in each arm with obviously practised ease. “Nyx Ulric is one of my soldiers, and a subject of today's meeting. Gentlemen, ladies, shall we return to the Council Chamber? Young Ulric, come. I would like to hear your report.”

He nodded, “Of course, Your Majesty.”

It was somewhat surreal for the sixteen year old to see the King and his Shield expertly usher the Ministers back the way they'd come, stopping them from rubbernecking the corridor. He would have thought that when the King said something, the others would hop to, but he seemed to spend much of his time placating these Ministers just to get them back into a room. Meanwhile, the Marshal plodded along in their wake, a silent monolith, each arm filled with a tearful little boy, one of whom was earnestly crying into the stoic man's neck, the other sniffing and stubbornly trying to swallow back his upset, without success. His son....

His son was holding the stolen knife out to him, handle first, scowling and pink cheeked, “Here. I took it. I'm....” he began to say, and then wrinkled his nose as if tasting something bad, “ _Sorry_ I stabbed you,” he lied.

Nyx laughed. How could he not?

“Keep it. I'd say you earned it fair and square,” he declared with a grin. Besides, it was bad luck to use a blade that had been turned against you once.

The boy hesitated, eyeing him as he slowly pulled his arm back, clearly expecting Nyx to change his mind. When he didn't, he tucked the handle through one of his belt-loops, and glanced over to where the adults had turned the corner. Nyx chuckled and followed after them, the ten year old glancing at him suspiciously before he followed suit.

“You're pretty well trained,” Nyx praised as they walked in only slightly awkward silence.

“I have to be,” the kid stated firmly. “It's my job to protect them,” he admitted, nodding to the two children his father was carrying further ahead.

Nyx glanced over, the smallest one was the Prince, the one crying wholeheartedly into the Marshal's neck, the tiny velcro heart he was supposed to collect a visible splotch of scarlet on the child's arm. A symbol of what an enemy could do if they got close enough to grab it, a chilling reminder that if someone could grab the heart, they could stab the child _in_ his heart. Did the Marshal's son know the purpose of it? What it meant? None of the Ministers did if their reactions to the incident were any indication.

Protecting the Prince.

That was a heavy duty for a boy not yet even old enough to shave. And yet....

“You're doing a damn good job,” he had to admit as he glanced back to the boy, “Name's Nyx, Nyx Ulric. Yours?”

Blue eyes flickered over to him, and then away just as quickly, “Anima. Anima Leonis. Most just call me Ani,” he admitted as the two peered into the Council room, everyone finding their former seats and getting settled, more chairs being procured from a side room for the children, not that either of them were keen on abandoning the lap of the Marshal now they were there, sat perched on the man's thighs and clinging to him like monkies – though the young Prince was quick to vacate when the King gestured to him that it was alright to come over. The four year old was already well trained it seemed, immediately slipping down from the Marshal's side – throwing a suspicious stink eye in Nyx's direction – before he shot across the relatively short distance and into his father's side. The King kissed his son on the forehead and sat him comfortably against his side as the meeting began anew.

“The reason I called this meeting is regarding the formation of a new fighting force, one of whom you've already met,” the King announced, gesturing to Nyx who was stood to attention against the wall. “The Kingsglaive are warriors each imbued with my strength and magic, charged with protecting the city from beyond the Wall. Today, I arranged for a security assessment using the new Glaive forces to test the Citadel security.” The King gestured to himself and his young son, his expression not _changing_ overly much, but still, it was like the temperature dropped and absolutely _no one_ was left with the illusion of just how displeased he was. “Today, I have been disappointed. An unknown individual managed to penetrate to the heart of this Citadel, into the very chambers that myself and my son reside upon these top floors. Had it not been for the quick actions of a _ten year old child_ who should not have seen active combat for more years to _come_ , this exercise would have resulted in the 'death' of my child, the Heir to this Throne.”

The room was silent, and beside the King, the Marshal's face could have been carved from the Glacian's throne itself.

“Nyx Ulric, report,” the King commanded, gesturing him forward.

He bowed his head, “Your Majesty,” he said as he stepped forward to the front of the table, directly opposite him. “Myself and six other Glaives were selected for this mission via lottery yesterday, we had thirteen hours maximum to plan our mission and a randomised budget of three thousand gil. I entered the Citadel at eleven oh six this morning, posing as a tourist visiting the gallery along with my fellow Glaives. Using a juryrigged Magitek disruptor on the ground floor, we knocked out the basic security systems, and while three of my fellow Glaives staged an attack to draw the Crownsguard, myself and the other three proceeded to the upper levels. They took the elevator, I took the stairs. On the sixth floor I was forced to vacate the stairwell as back-up Crownsguard forces made their way down in order to cut off my fellow Glaives' escape. I scaled the outside of the Citadel to the twenty-third floor where I broke in through one of the windows of a library. From there, I used a pair of heat-seeking goggles to direct me to the chamber the Prince was in based upon the size of the heat signatures.

“Upon entry into the room, I was confronted with three children, a ten year old, a six year old, and the young Prince. The eldest of the three immediately attacked me with a book, commanding the six year old to collect the Prince and escape. He then proceeded to attack me, steal my knife, and gut me. He collected the Prince and the six year old and fled the room. Due to my injury, I was forced to use an emergency Elixer before pursuing the trio. At which point the eldest told the other two where to find yourselves and sent them on ahead, turning to fight me in order to buy them time to escape.”

Nyx bowed his head, and stepped back, returning to his spot against the wall, glancing quickly to where Anima was sat with his father and had his arms full of the six year old boy who was glaring over his shoulder at him. Upon seeing Nyx looking over, the blond boy scowled furiously and tightened his grip on his older friend who smiled sweetly and pressed a quick kiss to the child's forehead.

The Marshal was staring at him from the corner of his eye.

Nyx swallowed and quickly looked away.

He pitied anyone that tried asking _that guy_ for permission to date his son. Shiva's tits.

 

* * *

 

Ani had never seen his father so furious. And he got front row seats, sat upon on the super comfy leather desk chair in his office as his father _tore_ the Crownsguard Captains a new one for such a shoddy showing. His father never raised his voice, nor glared at them, _he didn't have to_. Some day Ani wanted to be able to talk to people like that, to be as steady and solid as his father and leave absolutely no room for doubt that he was _not happy_ without having to bellow like a wounded animal. Whether it was the Harry voice in the back of his head, reminding him of how he behaved in the year before he went to the Department of Mysteries, or whether it was the distant shadow of a childhood beneath Vernon Dursley's temper, either way, he wanted to be like his Dad.

Better yet, there were apparently cameras all around the Citadel, and Anima got to watch the _entire_ thing, from the moment the seven Glaives entered into the Citadel, to when Uncle Regis called the exercise off and the Crownsguard were forced to release the four Glaives they had managed to capture – two of whom still had not even been found. At least until a radio announcement went out, and the two surfaced, one from the elevator shaft, and the other from the rafters of the _Throne Room_.

His father got to watch the video of the moment Anima lobbed a book at the older boy and vaulted over the back of the couch to gut him with his own knife. The three Captains in the room looked at him with varying expressions of shock and disbelief, which, understandable really. He was sat cross-legged on his father's chair a bowl of fruit salad half empty in front of him as he steadily made his way through his favourite treat – when Demeter heard from Ignis about what happened, she personally delivered it to him, and thanked him for protecting Ignis. He hardly looked like the kind of child that would kill a man without hesitation.

Then came the footage of the fight in the corridor and how he physically _threw_ himself into the fight.

Looking at it with an outside eye, he could see several times when Nyx _could_ have taken advantage of his greater height and weight to make a move that would have put him down or out. He never did. He took the back foot and let Ani hold him off – until that last moment when Nyx spotted the King down the corridor, and Ani pounced.

On camera, it was a lot more impressive to see him physically _throw_ the larger boy to the floor.

When they got back to their apartment, his father tugged him into another hug, and said, “I'm proud of you,” in a fierce whisper. Before bopping him on the nose, “But don't scare me like that again,” he scolded severely.

The next day, someone had somehow managed to leak the footage of the incident to the press, there were now newspapers with clips of Anima assaulting a scruffy teenager, of the Crownsguard 'bravely defending the Royal Family in an unscheduled security test'. Comments on the Moogletube video of Ani outright gutting someone varied from approval (“Serves him right for trying to attack the Prince!”), to hilarity (“LOL! Dude got OWNED by a ten year old!”), to horror (“That kid showed NO HESITATION! IS HE SAFE TO STAY NEAR THE PRINCE?! HE'S DANGEROUS AND CLEARLY NOT RIGHT IN THE HEAD!”).

Then someone gave Ani a Crownsguard uniform tailored to fit him, an adorable joke at first, especially since Ani was absolutely _thrilled_ to have a uniform that matched his Dad – and Regis was almost beside himself with glee at seeing the two (he took many photos on his phone while Cor glared at him from the corner of his eye, Ani gleefully posed whenever he saw the camera, absolutely shameless).

Less funny was when people began to take it seriously. And Ani appeared on the news again as the youngest Crownsguard in history, unseating his father, Marshal Cor Leonis, for the title. They replayed the clip of his attacking Ulric, and went onto explain his 'intimate connection to the Royal Family as the primary Shield for Prince Noctis', and the many years of combat training he received from the Amicitia family and his father to prepare him for the role. His father was livid regarding the leak as that information was not to be known outside the Citadel and its staff, he wanted to keep his son _outside_ of the public eye as much as humanly possible. Until now, no one had even _known_ that he had a son. As a result, Ani was no longer allowed to go to the homes of his tutors for his lessons, and now had to take them within the Citadel Drawing rooms – where there was a significantly higher chance of his lessons being disrupted by the now exceptionally clingy Prince, or his young Retainer.

Both Ignis and Noct had become incredibly clingy and, in the latter's case, prone to tears and nightmares. It wouldn't be uncommon to see the Prince being carried around by any of the adults in his life, or his young Shield in his new Crownsguard uniform, or young Ignis trailing after them giving all and sundry suspicious glowers from behind his new glasses. The two had developed a habit of following him everywhere – to his tutoring, though they were not allowed, to his combat training, which Noct was physically barred from regardless of the tear-filled tantrums he threw in response to being separated. The latter was especially important because Ignis had taken a disliking to Gladio some time ago following a fight the two had that neither were willing to explain to anyone else.

To get Ignis within the same room as Gladio was often like pulling teeth, and it was only because _both_ of them had become territorial over Ani that they would consent to being within eyeshot of the other.

Now though, Gladio didn't so much as blink at Ignis when the blond boy trailed into the training hall on the heels of their eldest 'sibling'. The seven year old was all grins, and bright eyes, his hair in utter disarray, “I'm going to have a baby sister!” he exclaimed excitedly as soon as he spotted them, practically bouncing in place.

“Really?” Ignis blurted in surprise, breaking his self-imposed vow of silence where Gladio was concerned, “Lady Amicitia's pregnant?”

Gladio didn't notice, too busy nodding, “Yeah! I'm going to be a real big brother, like Ani!”

Iggy's face soured even as Anima laughed and reached out to ruffle his hair, “I'm sure you'll be a great big brother, Gladio,” he told his fellow Shield.

“I'll do my best!” he promised earnestly as the training hall doors opened and, instead of the expected Antheia, Uncle Clarus came in, sans robes, and a huge broadsword over his shoulder.

His son, of course, cheered excitedly to see him while Anima grimaced, and Ignis looked between him and the King's Shield warily. Gladio had clearly never had a lesson with his father before. Clarus believed in learning on the job, through hands on experience. Which meant a whole lot of bruises. If Gladio wasn't crying now, he definitely would be by the end of this.

Anima took a deep breath and unsheathed his daggers, nudging Ignis away to go and stand to one side. He technically wasn't part of their lessons, even if Antheia would teach him when he attended. Clarus smirked, and gestured the blond to come back and join them.

“May as well include him. You'll need all the help you can get,” the Shield announced easily as he hefted the broadsword up and out. That thing probably weighed more than all three of them put together, and he held it one handedly.

Ani grimaced.

 

* * *

 

Gladio was crying and trying to hide it.

Ignis too.

Anima was wincing with every movement, his bruises covered with yet more bruises as he gingerly made his way over to where the defeated little ones were huddled, Clarus stood to one side awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck looking a little at a loss as his wife hissed at him furiously about pushing too hard and too soon. Anima might be able to handle combat like that, but the other two were too young, especially _Ignis_ , you idiot man!

He bundled the two up in his lap, and reached for the emergency potions he usually kept if he hurt himself during training (he'd accidentally broken his arm once dodging sideways and tripping on his own trouser leg once, that was embarrassing). Two cracks of broken crystal and flickering light and the sniffles began to taper off from the two. Gladio's bloody lip and sore cheek where he took a sword hilt to the face now healed and gone, while Ignis' bruised and scraped arms and legs from where he took a nasty tumble smoothed over and glimmered briefly from the potion's magic.

“There we go, all better,” Anima crooned, kissing the two on the side of the head as he hugged them. “Sorry I couldn't protect you better,” he apologised, giving them both a squeeze.

If anything, this caused Iggy's tears to renew as he turned and buried his face against Ani's shoulder, gripping his clothing tightly as Gladio pulled a face, and hunched down guiltily.

“I think that's enough for one day, don't you?” Antheia suggested gently from behind them, smiling kindly as she held a hand out for her son. Gladio glanced back at Anima guiltily but quickly moved to her without comment or argument, “Anima? Why don't you take Ignis back to your room, or the kitchen if he'd rather see his Mother?” she suggested wisely.

Ignis just shook his head and tightened his grip.

Anima rubbed his back with an awkward smile, “I'll take him home. I recorded a documentary for him yesterday, we can watch that until Uncle Theseus or Auntie Dem come to collect him,” he said as he got to his feet, bringing the six year old up with him, grimacing and paling a little in pain as he did so. Antheia, of course, noticed.

“Why don't you use a potion before you go, Ani?” she suggested in a tone that left little to doubt that it was, in fact, an order.

Anima grinned sheepishly, “Ah, I only had the two,” he admitted easily, feeling Ignis stiffen against him, and saw the way Gladio's eyes widened in realisation. “No big. I'll just get one out from under the sink at home,” he promised the woman as he hefted Iggy up a little further on his hip so he would be easier to carry. Antheia gave him a scolding look, but let it slide, and let him go on his way, Ignis clinging to him like a baby malboro.

It was probably a little unfair of him, but out of the three, Ignis was his favourite brother. He was actually smart enough to talk to, _properly_ , and attended much of the same tutoring classes that he did, he didn't sometimes get it into his head to be foolishly competitive like Gladio sometimes did – the younger Shield seeming to swing between earnest admiration and sulky possessiveness at the drop of a hat, on one memorable occasion even accusing Ani of stealing Noct away from him because the Amicitias' are supposed to be the King's Shield, not Leonis. Sure he could be _clingy_ sometimes, but it wasn't the same kind of way that Noct could be, which was bratty and demanding. Ignis was just happy to be included, and if he didn't like something, well, he was unlikely to raise a fuss or kick up a stink about it either.

It might change in future, but for now, as Ani got him settled on the couch in the living room, and turned on the TV before quickly going into his room and digging out the very few stuffed animals he still had for Ignis to cuddle with. He was content to have a movie day with his little brother.

He would have to talk to Dad about their combat training when he got back. And, as much as he didn't want to, and also at the same time kind of _did_ , he should track down Nyx Ulric and request a proper spar with him.

Learning from veterans was all well and good, but fighting with someone who was only _somewhat_ better or worse than you was the best way to improve. His brothers just weren't old enough for him to feel comfortable enough properly sparring against as they hadn't finished their basic combat. So, finding the trainee Glaives would be his best bet to get a good fight with someone he wasn't completely out-classed by.

Also, he wanted to see how he _really_ measured up. The little Harry voice in the back of his head _demanded_ it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, you guys all guessed right, it WAS Nyx. Which I honestly didn't expect because I kind of fudged up on the timelines. Yes the Kingsglaive is actually founded at this point in time, but Nyx, Libertas, and Crowe should not be in the Crown City yet. At this point in time, they should still be in Galahd. It's canon that both Nyx and Libertas were old enough to run their own bar before they came to Insomnia, so I figure they're actually only somewhat recent recruits within the last five to eight years by the time the Glaive movie begins. 
> 
> I fucked up. But I'm sticking to it. We'll just say the Bar was owned by their families and the two practically ran it when they were off doing resistance fighting things (which is also canon for Nyx and Libertas and Crowe. They were practically the HP trio in FFXV pre-Kingsglaive).


	6. Chapter 5

Anima got his rematch. And lost.

He lost the next three he insisted on as well before he was forced to sneak out of the Glaive's training barracks. He was back the next day to get his ass handed to him again, but there was no denying that the Glaives he interacted with eventually grew fond of him, and vice versa if the sweets and such he snuck in to bribe them with were any indication.

Nyx introduced him to his bestfriend, Libertas, who in turn introduced Ani to his adoptive younger sister, Crowe. The two of them being the uncaught Glaives at the end of the first penetration test; Crowe hiding in the throne room while Libertas occupied the lift shafts. Seeing the three together, Nyx, a cocky but friendly 'hero' who seemed to just _trip_ into trouble, Libertas, a hot headed tactician with a brother complex and inferiority issues, and Crowe, a clever young woman who had a light touch with magic and a ruthless streak a mile wide. Anima was reminded almost _uncomfortably_ of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. And it made him ache in a way he didn't quite understand.

Noct had officially started his lessons. Uncle Regis taking the unprecedented decision to officially enrol him in public education, declaring it as both a sign of his faith in the Insomnian Department of Education, and because he wished his son to be a King who understood his people from the ground up. Behind closed doors however, he admitted he just wished for Noctis to have as normal a childhood as he could, as _happy_ a childhood as could be provided by his waning power. He.... did not say why. But there was an uncharacteristic bend to his back as he admitted it. Like he used to have in the days after Aunt Aulea passed.

Ignis received better tutors, and moved into specialist classes with some other children, getting into more involved lessons that ate into his time as he completely dedicated himself to his duties as Noct's personal retainer. Prometheus confided in Cor late one night when he thought Anima sleeping that the Penetration Test had shaken him considerably, seeing Anima unflinchingly step into his position as Noct's Shield had made him question his own dedication. He had, apparently, not liked what he had concluded, and thus thrown himself fully into his studies.

It wasn't long before the Amicitia's welcomed their newborn daughter, Iris, into the world. Gladio was absolutely beside himself the first time he got to hold her, crying fat inconsolable tears as he sobbed about how tiny she was and he would break her. He found it hard to juggle his Shield training and being a good big brother, but eventually got into the rhythm of it.

Everyone was growing up and.... Ani kind of felt a little like he was being left behind in all honesty.

He realised that he was probably a little messed up when he thought about it. He didn't have any friends outside his brothers, and they were all considerably younger than him. Though he supposed Nyx and the Glaives counted now? But they were all older than him – though not as old as his Uncles or the Crownsguard members he had grown up around. He had been born into the heart of a country at war to the head of their defensive Military force, slated from a young age to become the protector of the royal family, and had spent his life training as such. He honestly felt a little abandoned because his brothers were growing up and away from him, pursuing their own futures with all of their might. He should be _proud_. But instead, he felt like a spare tyre kicking around without much purpose.

Up until his father handed him a folder.

“Fill those in and put them on my desk by lunch,” he said plainly before walking away.

It was an employment contract and a personnel questionnaire, a small post-it note set within the folder from his father saying that since everyone was determined to treat him as a Crownsguard they may as well make it official, do me proud, earn your badge same as everyone else, no special treatment for being my son, I know you can do it, etc.

' _Do me proud.'_

Anima has his paperwork filled in, completed with his best hand-writing, and handed in before the end of the hour. His father read through the information with a face as still and stern as if carved from stone, but as always, a glint of amusement and love was in his eyes as they memorized each answer, lighting up here and there with interest or hilarity. His _lips_ even twitched once!

That first day he didn't do anything particularly interesting. His dad tested his combat abilities completely wholesale, and while he held back, it was no where near as little as he used to during their training. He _really_ pushed and forced Anima to pull out some of those dirty tricks he'd picked up from the Glaives, especially Crowe who was so tiny and skinny compared to the guys that she _had_ to come up with some unorthodox moves. Ones she was happy to teach to a fellow midget in exchange for aid in pranking the guys. A few of them took his old man by surprise, but he had _decades_ and thousands of battles more experience than him and was always able to turn the tables, no matter how unexpected an attack – and his father was indeed, _very_ surprised when Ani stomped on his foot, rammed an elbow into his groin, and then attempted to headbutt him in the face.

“One would think you didn't want siblings with attacks like that,” his father quipped almost as amused as he was surprised.

“We both know it wouldn't happen,” his son pointed out with an apologetic grin.

He was given a combat rank fitting his abilities, and then handed several packets of paper that he had to read through and sign – training courses apparently, procedures, and laws.

It... a lot of it was over his head, annoyingly. He highlighted the parts he didn't understand in each of the packets and hunted down a free Crownsguard, finding himself sat up to a table in the breakroom with Dustin as he pointed to each of the sections in his packets and explaining his best guess for what they were and asking for clarification. It accidentally drew in one of the newer Crownsguard, a lady by the name of Monica who had literally only just finished her training, and then also drew in a few older members too. He somehow started a refresher course in the breakroom that lasted for well over an hour and resulted in his father having to come _looking_ for people that were supposed to be in a meeting with him that hadn't shown up.

The remainder of the week was actually spent _on_ training courses, many of which were _desperately_ boring, and many of which were actually really interesting. Interesting enough that his father had to knock on his bedroom door and remind him about their 'lights out' rule when it came to bedtime more than a few times.

Anima wanted to be _good_ at his job, to do his father proud.

It was weird. As Harry, he'd never had anyone he wanted to be proud of him. Not like this. He hadn't wanted to disappoint Sirius, he'd never wanted so much to please him like this. He could understand Hermione's academic dedication a lot better now. So even though a lot of the subject matter was eyedryingly dull, and he ended up having to read it aloud, finger under the text, and then even resort to writing it out in his notebook a few times just to make sure he had it impressed in his mind, he still slogged on through it. He asked the other trainees whom he shared lectures with to quiz him on his shakier aspects and did the same for them – he made a few friends, many however were either bitter that he was the son of the Marshal, intimidated that he was the son of the Marshal, or scornful of the fact that he was only ten. Those people he ignored. Funnily enough, it was the older ones who gave him the least amount of grief. He would have thought they would be the biggest nay-sayers to his joining, but it was actually the younger recruits.

“They remember your father joining at thirteen, the son of a refugee having grown up in a slum without any formal training, now the most infamous warrior in all of Lucis,” one of the older trainees, Valiante, pointed out with a whiskery grin. He was around his father's age, and had been laid off from his old job when the company privatised in the face of the wobbling economy, so he decided to try and do something worthwhile and joined the Guard to protect his home and provide for his daughter. “The younger ones, they just know him as the Marshal. He always was and always will be. They don't remember the uproar it caused when Prince Regis took a _commoner_ born of a Niflheim refugee into his personal retinue, and then _left_ the Crown City on his pilgrimage in a time of war. So many people were certain your father would sell him out to the otherside. It was probably a good thing his mother had passed away because there were manhunts throughout the slums to find her until word got out. I shudder to think what they'd have done if they actually found that poor woman. People's blood ran hotter back then.”

Magna, one of the younger trainees, scoffed, “Like it's much different now,” he stated with a roll of his eyes.

“Sure it is,” Valiante corrected lazily as he laid another card down, “Sure there's anti-refugee protests now, but they ain't the riots that used to have folk boarding their windows shut and hiding in closets with their kids in terror anymore. Refugees aren't being stopped in the streets and having their country of origin interrogated out of them, they ain't getting beaten by mobs of ten to twenty men anymore. Former Niflheim citizens ain't being found in gutters with bags over their heads or their skulls caved in either.”

“People actually did that?” Anima asked, horrified.

Magna looked worried, “Sure you should be saying this kinda stuff around the Marshal's son?” he asked in a hushed tone, looking over at the door as if scared that he would come swooping in.

Valiante sniffed, “Kid needs to know. It's his country's history whether he likes it or not. He needs to know the good and the bad, especially as a Crownsguard. You'll meet some of the greatest people in the world, and many of the _worst_ ,” he told the ten year old, brown eyes narrowed and sharp as he tapped a finger onto the table in front of him, “The important thing to remember is to never forget who _you_ are, or why you're here. Why you decided to become a Guard. Why you decided to _protect_.”

 

* * *

 

The day he 'graduated' from training, he was given a gift.

He stared at the repurposed golf-cart in the carpark with a twitching eyebrow, it was painted in the Guard colours, it had a little blue light set on the roof, and dangling from the rear-view mirror was a cactuar plush. It looked absolutely absurd next to the sleek armoured Guard cars around it. Yes it was as though someone had made it look like an actual car, but it was just that wrong-side of uncanny valley, it just didn't look right. Like a lunchbox on wheels.

“Am I being hazed?” he found himself asking, sounding both confused and irritated.

Laughter immediately erupted around him.

 

* * *

 

Never let it be said he was ungrateful for his 'gift', but if he was going to _use_ it, he needed to make some _adjustments_ , otherwise it would be useless as a Crownsguard vehicle. Without a driving licence, which he wouldn't be allowed to get for another six years, son of the Marshal or not, he wasn't allowed to drive anything with an engine about 50CC. Moogletube was an amazing invention, and he spent a long time getting dirty and oily as he followed videos and online instructions and even called up a guy out in Leide for advice at his father's suggestion.

Eventually though, he had the painfully wheezy golf-cart engine swapped out for something a little stronger. He also ditched the only too obvious golf-cart seats and steering wheel, as well as getting some decent tyres on there that weren't going to burst the second he rolled over anything more abrasive than woodchippings.

He got the back seats separated out with a sturdy mesh panel that would keep him safe from any perps he was transporting, he also got some reinforced glass for the back windows. He disabled the internal opening mechanism for the doors too so that it couldn't be opened from within – and since this _was_ a repurposed golf-cart there was no boot/trunk, and the chairs wouldn't fold down to give someone another means of escape. He replaced the stupid CD player they'd stuck into the dashboard with an actual radio receiver and tuned it into the Crownsguard frequencies so that he could answer distress calls and the like, and then went a few steps further by getting a first aid kit that he stowed under the passenger side chair, and then several extra sets of equipment and even a handgun for the glove-compartment. He ended up hiding a few knives in various places too, because you could never have enough knives.

And just to rub it in those hazing jackasses faces, he kept the cactuar plush exactly where it was.

He was very proud of himself by the time he'd finished, and happily drove his father into work the morning that he'd finished, making sure to obey all the traffic laws he'd read about as he did so. He felt a bit bad, because there wasn't much legroom in the passenger side, so his dad was forced to put his sword on the backseat, but he said it was fine.

There was much laughter when he finally pulled into the carpark – laughter that stopped almost immediately as his father unfolded out of the passenger side.

Absolutely _no one_ said anything as he collected his sword from the backseat and followed his son into the building, and not one hand inched to their phones – even though many of them _itched_ to do so. It was all over the building before lunch, and Cor did not a single thing to stop it as he continued his work as normal. He had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of when it came to his son, why should he be embarrassed to be driven to work in the car that his child had worked so hard to make work appropriate and then _offered_ to make his morning easier by taking him in so he wouldn't have to waste money on expensive petrol? His little mobile was electric, much cheaper and more economical.

It was also the morning that Ani received his first mission.

“There have been a few rumours of a peeping tom in this area,” Silenda, one of the senior Guards, told him as she set a file onto his desk. “I want you to gather information from the locals, pay attention to the kids, they see more than they realise. His primary targets are women of all ages, target times are mid-afternoon to early-morning when people tend to be at home. See what you can find, Leonis, you have a week,” she told him with a smirk before she moved off to Valiante's desk next to him and handed out a job to look into a spate of thefts on the Western arm of the city.

He went through the file, making notes in a fresh notebook as he did so.

He was looking for what people assumed was a male between the ages of twenty to thirty five, about six-foot in height, with dark hair and pale skin. All other information was sparse. He had no particular target group outside women past puberty, so at least he wasn't into little kids. He hadn't yet upgraded to physical assault, but looking at all the markers, it was only a matter of time. He had gone from just watching, to masturbation while watching, and then later stealing objects from his targets – a few women had reported their washing going missing off the line, and one woman complained that her dirty washing had been stolen out of the conservatory where she was waiting to finish a load in the machine before putting it in. It was only a matter of time before he moved onto sexual assault as he grew more comfortable and secure in his anonymity.

He collected his notebook with the important information, several names to speak to, and went to his little car. He got snickered at as he left, but ignored it. He had shit to do, and a pervert to catch.

The first person he went to visit was Helix Scandere, an older woman who took one look at him in his uniform and nearly closed the door in his face. She thought she was being made fun of, that it was a prank, but he explained that no, he was an actual Crownsguard, here was his I.D., yes his father was _that_ Leonis, no he would not be handling this case, he was sent because his superior thought that a friendlier face would be more reassuring to the people and less suspicious. He'd even left his car a few streets away and walked here so as not to tip the pervert off that he was being investigated.

He interviewed Mrs Scandere, and then moved on down his list, making sure to impress upon each individual that they were to keep this quiet as if his target found out he was being investigated he would go into hiding, only to surface later when he thought it was safe and continue the cycle – possibly even more aggressively than before.

Adults spoken to, he took his jacket off and shoved it in the car, and ran off to the playpark in only his t-shirt.

He played with the kids for an hour, pushing some of the littler ones on the swings, playing mock-sword fighting with the older ones, and then got talking to a few of the girls on the round-about. They were _literally_ a fountain of information, and only too eager to share with him anything they knew.

Apparently he always went on a circuit, and he always left _evidence_ up the walls outside. He always went for houses with downstairs bathrooms and bedrooms, so it was always going to be obvious which houses he'd target. And he liked blondes. He always left the most stuff at blonde houses, sometimes coming back more than once according to one girl.

“Like, you'd think he was done with you for the night and you'd let your guard down and BAM there he is, grunting outside your window, mega gross!” one of the girls explained with a shudder. “My sister grabbed a broom once and ran after him screaming but he was pretty fast, as soon as he realised he was made he was _outta_ there and over the back fence.”

Ani thanked them for the information and played a little more so as not to make anyone suspicious before he called it a day, got back into his car and wrote all his gathered information down. He compiled it into a small report that he e-mailed to Silenda before he decided to do a quick patrol around the area. It was starting to get dark, so there was a chance this guy might be prowling around right now, but either way, Anima wanted to get some evidence samples for the labs which meant he had to go and do the world's most disgusting scavenger hunt in the steadily growing darkness.

He wondered if he'd been a Crownsguard long enough to lodge a formal complaint as he found a splatter of, uh, leavings on the wall at the back of one house that was still wet enough to be collected. Using a swab he uncapped it, pushed the cotton bud out, collected a smear of it, and then pulled it back into the tube and capped it to preserve the sample, only to pause.

He was wearing gloves anyway but.... the tube was warm.

Oh _gross! It was fresh!_

He very nearly flung it away from himself only to pause, sample held at arms length from himself by the tips of his fingers.

That meant this guy wasn't far away.

“Got you,” he whispered as he craned his head to look around, shoving the sample in his pocket and mentally vowing to wash his hands at least three times when he got home – gloves and plastic tube completely regardless. He felt like gagging just thinking about his hands being within a single inch of a fresh sample like that.

Flo Arvum, a young blonde mother of two, lived three houses down from here. She had been one of the women he'd interviewed earlier, and she had a downstairs bathroom – he could see the lights on from here.

He bolted for the back fence, vaulting into the alleyway behind the houses with barely a whisper of sound, landing in the shadows of the fence panels with a quiet thump that was luckily drowned out by a crow on someone's roof. He crept down the alley to where Mrs Arvum's back-garden gate was already open, creaking ever so faintly in the evening breeze.

If an adult tried to slip through there, it would undoubtedly be too narrow, and the gate would make noise. But for a ten year old?

Ani sucked in a breath and stood on his tiptoes, inching his way through the tiny gap without problem.

Mrs Arvum's garden was grassy and pleasant, framed in flower-beds with a wooden shed at the bottom on his left. Children's toys littered the grass, and there was a patio at the back of the house where a BBQ was set against the wall. There was a set of glass double doors, the blinds drawn, and a single frosted window to the left of them, and a shadowy figure stood in front of the brightly lit window, its right arm moving jerkily.

Anima glanced around the garden, carefully creeping through on silent feet, glancing up every now and again to make sure he hadn't been spotted as he navigated his way around the toys.

The peeping tom however, moved, making him freeze.

But he didn't turn. He went for the door.

Alarm shot through him. This guy was escalating _now?_ Of all times? While Anima was literally –

He took a running leap and _landed_ on the guy, feet in the small of his back, one arm going around his neck.

The man yelled as Anima's weight pulled him down, back bent double. He landed _ontop_ of him, but he was used to and expecting it, he had no problem rolling with it and flipping the guy over onto his back even as he bounced his head off the concrete patio slabs.

“You are under arrest!” he declared as loudly and forcefully as possible even as he snatched one of the guy's flailing hands and snapped a cuff over his wrist. “You have the right to remain silent! Anything you say – ” he caught the other wrist and _twisted_ , making the pervert howl as he dug a thumb into a pressure point and roughly hauled it behind his back and snapped the other cuff over it, “ – can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford one, you will be assigned one by a court of law.”

“What's – by the Six!” Mrs Arvum exclaimed in fright as she appeared in the doorway of the house to see the child Crownsguard she'd spoken to earlier that morning pinning a man in a dark hoodie in her backgarden, his hands cuffed behind his back, reading him his rights. “What – who – what's going on here?” she demanded, adjusting her dressing gown, her hair still wet and soapy from her shower.

“I caught this man attempting to enter the house, Mrs Arvum. I have reasonable suspicion that he is the peeping tom you've been having difficulties with in the area. We'll find out once I get him back home- I mean to the station.” He flushed a little in embarrassment at calling the Crownsguard HQ 'home', even though it practically was.

“Get – get the hell off me, you brat,” the peeper growled, trying to heave himself away.

Ani hopped back a step, wound a leg back, and kicked him in the stomach hard enough to make him bend double and vomit across the patio. Mrs Arvum exclaimed, jumping back a step, and he smiled reassuringly at her.

“I'll be sure to get him out of your hair immediately, ma'am. And if I may suggest? Please remember to lock the back doors and windows if it's just yourself and the children home alone. Your partner has a key, I'm sure they wouldn't mind having to use it if it meant just that little bit of extra safety for yourself and the little ones,” he suggested as he reached down and grabbed the gasping man by the hair and belt, hustling him to his feet.

“R-right. Uhm...” she trailed off a little helplessly.

“I'll be back to collect your statement tomorrow, ma'am. You have a good evening,” he told her kindly.

 

* * *

 

Anima didn't leave immediately. He knew that there would be a lot of backlash when he got back to the Crownsguard HQ with a perp in tow, so he got his preliminary report done on his tablet while sat in the front-seat of his car, listening with half an ear as the peeper cursed him out, wriggled, kicked, tried to destroy the windows, kick the mesh divider down, and then graduated to trying to sweet-talk him into letting him go, and then threatening him. He had his recorder going so the whole thing was going to be provided for evidence later, especially the part where he attempted to offer Anima pornographic materials and the stolen goods of various women in the local neighbourhood, before threatening greivous bodily harm to outright murder upon his person when he didn't get an answer. Once he'd finished the preliminary report, he saved it, and got going. He got stopped by the late-night traffic police on his way to the station, forcing him to flash his Crownsguard I.D. and his papers to prove not only his identity but also his reason for having a handcuffed man in his backseat – a man whom he had not made decent and was currently sat with his junk hanging out looking very sorry for himself.

There was less laughter than last time as he pulled into the station, and it cut off completely when he dragged the peeper out of the backseat and took him in for processing.

“Leonis!” Silenda barked, spotting him getting the peeper settled into an interrogation room, her eyes flicking from the child to the man – and then to his still flapping genitalia, before zooming back to the ten year old and _narrowing_. “Outside. Now,” she commanded with a jerk of her head.

Ani made sure he was secure before doing as he was told, and closing the door behind him.

“What the hell is this, Leonis?” she demanded in disbelief and anger, “I told you it was an information gathering job, fact-verification!”

“He was about to escalate! What was I supposed to do, just let him break into Mrs Arvum's house while she was in the shower?” he protested in distress. Was – was he getting into trouble for saving a woman from being sexually assaulted?

“You don't know that!” she hissed.

“He was trying to get inside!” Ani squawked, “It was pretty damn obvious!”

Silenda made a wordless sound of anger, her hands gesturing aggressively, “Call for back up! You're ten years old – no one in their right mind is going to be sending you off to fight crime! What if you got hurt?! No wonder your father has grey hairs!” she finally burst in frustration as she turned away from him. Ani spluttered, offended. His dad did _not_ have grey hair!

“What's going on here?” his father's voice cracked down the hallway.

Silenda turned to glare at him, “I sent your son on a simple fact verification job, and he just arrested a man, hauled him into interrogation. And did I mention that man had his genitals on full display?” she added almost sweetly.

Ani shot her a poisonous look as he dug into his bag and produced his tablet, “My preliminary report, _sir,_ ” he announced, holding it out on the appropriate programme. He then also produced his evidence baggy with the swab he collected before hand, “And back-up evidence collected from number eleven, Malmalam Lane.”

His father looked between the tablet he had just picked up, the baggy in his son's hand, and then at Silenda who had just thrown her arms up in the air in outright disbelief. His face was immovable as always, but there was a light of conflict in his eyes that made Ani's stomach turn over with a sudden rush of anxiety – had... had he done the right thing? Or had he just embarrassed his father?

Had he done what Snape always accused Harry of?

He could feel himself pale, and tensed up against the sudden tremble he felt building in his limbs. If he had done something wrong, then he would accept that, along with whatever punishment that came with it – and if that meant removal from the Crownsguard then.... then it meant removal from the Crownsguard. He would just have to deal with that.

Instead of saying anything, his father gave the report a quick skim read, the lines around his eyes tightening ever so slightly as they sharpened. Whatever he read displeased him. Greatly. And Ani felt his fingers beginning to tingle with adrenaline.

“Silenda, take that down to forensics. I'll handle the interrogation. Anima, back to your desk. I want your after action report filled in, completed, and on my desk before I get back,” his father ordered with a short nod as he gestured at the woman to take the plastic bag from him. The look of frustration on her face immediately smoothed to one of bland professionalism as she straightened up, worry and alarm in her eyes as she gave him a curt 'sir', and collected the bag from him. She looked worried when she glanced down at him, but didn't say anything when she turned on heel and walked away, leaving them alone in the corridor.

Anima swallowed, wetting his lips once they were alone, “Did... did I do it wrong?” he found himself asking quietly.

His father looked up from the tablet, his expression not changing, but his eyes did soften a little. “We'll talk about it later. Go get that report written up, and I'll debrief you later.”

He nodded, swallowing against his dry mouth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a surprise. I was struggling for where to take Ani after he joined the Crownsguard but Rey recommended giving him some truly Harry Potter styled nonsense to get into – and since there's a peeper kicking around her local area, I decided to perform some aggressive wish fulfilment and have the guy get his ass kicked and arrested by a ten year old – before being forced into an interrogation room with the Marshal fully aware of what he had been doing.
> 
> As for the fact that his bits are still on display, Ani ain't fuckin' touching that! Someone else can tuck him in – he doesn't get paid enough to juggle those kinds of balls.


	7. Chapter 6

Anima returned to his desk feeling wretched. First day on the job after training and he'd already fucked it all up.

He sat down and collected a blank report form from his neatly arranged folders. He... he had been arrogant, he'd thought – no, not even _that_ , he _hadn't_ thought in the first place. He had been stupid and arrogant enough to believe that he was above reproach, that his actions were correct, even though he'd been put through various training courses that said otherwise. Snape was right about him, but he was also wrong. He would never be even half the man his father was.

He filled in his report as carefully and thoroughly as he could, miserable but thinking back to how his dad went through piles of similar reports, how some of them were so much faster, and other ones spent ages picking through and scowling at in annoyance. He tried to make his own resemble to quick ones while remembering everything he was told about report writing, he'd already made a pain in the ass of himself, made his father's job so much harder, it was the absolute bare minimum he could do. He made a copy, filed it away in his personal records along with his initial papers and notes as well as copies of the witness reports and the information he gathered from the residents and the children before he took his report file and put it into his father's office.

The Crownsguard offices were busy, and noisy, and while intellectually he knew they were too busy to bother with him right now, he felt as though he were being watched and _judged_ as he crept out and back down to the carpark where he collected the recording from inside his little car. There was _definitely_ staring as he signed it into evidence, filling in the paperwork, collecting copies of said paperwork to be filed appropriately, and then quickly escaping, keeping his head down and avoiding eye-contact. If Crownsguard gossip was anything like Hogwarts, everyone was probably already aware of how badly he'd screwed up.

He made a detour by his father's office to add one of the evidence locker papers to the peeper's file before continuing back to his desk to place the second copy in his personal file.

And then he waited.

And waited.

And ended up redoing his report, in more detail, including personal thoughts and observations, and then went through it with a fine tooth-comb and critical eye regarding his actions.

It..... was a little more obvious why Silenda was upset as he did so.

He had clearly been given a milk run mission, more publicity stunt than actual work, to get him used to the more investigative sides of what the Crownsguard did within Insomnia. He might have been ranked Silver for combat (the third highest rank for combat within the Guard), but he was still ten years old. People did not like to see children in live combat scenarios. Times had changed a great deal from his father's day when the military enlistment age had been sixteen (and he had been both skilled and _large_ enough to successfully lie about his age). He also shouldn't have kicked the perp when he was down, handcuffed, but still resisting. That could be grounds for 'police' brutality, and get them in trouble with the already rather hot under the collar public – he could _probably_ swing it in his favour using his age and the nature of the man's crimes, but he was already a divisive figure in the media as a 'child soldier', a relic of a by-gone era of barbarism, and a whole host of other stupid things. People liked to believe they had grown, changed, become 'enlightened' since his father's youth when a tall boy with broad shoulders could enlist while underage and no one would double check. If they found out that a ten year old was being sent off to subdue sexual predators then it would open a whole new can of worms that no one had the patience to deal with.

Anima rubbed his ear, chewing his lower lip, scraping skin off between his teeth as he thought. How could he improve? What should he do next time – if there was a next time?

Reporting in would be a good idea. Even if it was just a text to warn someone of his plans, and where he actually was. Yes he had been trained his whole life, but both Nyx and his father proved time and again that he wasn't invincible and that despite his skill, age, experience, and longer limbs would often win out over him. He could have very well put himself in danger by rushing in recklessly like that. As Harry it hadn't mattered, it was what was expected of him, there would have not been any back-up for him beyond Ron and Hermione, there would be no upset parents waiting for him at home, no crying little brothers and sister who had just learned he wasn't coming home. Anima was not nearly as free to do as he pleased as Harry had been, there would be people hurt and heartbroken if he was injured, or killed, in the line of duty. And if that happened, no one would have even known about it, or where he was. It would delay medical treatment, and it would force Guard members to mobilise to find him and take them from more important work.

Yes, reporting in was a definite must from now on. He needed to get a personal radio on his kit.

Next was not to attack the perp – he needed to learn more submission holds for that to even be considered. And he should probably look into non-lethal combat aids too, pepper spray, tazers, stunguns, etc. Back up would be good, but he could obtain that via reporting in, near-by officers could come to his aid if they weren't busy with more important things.

“Anima,” his father interrupted, making him jerk a little in surprise and sit up, giving his father a good look at the report in front of him and the large amount of red notes that Anima had crammed into the margins regarding where he'd gone wrong and what he should do next time. Blue eyes lingered on the paper before flicking to his son's suddenly nervous looking face, “My office,” he ordered, his tone not changing as he dipped his head in the appropriate direction.

Time to face the music.

 

* * *

 

He was assigned to a Senior Crownsguard, ostensibly to show him the ropes, really to keep him on a leash. He got told off for rushing in head first without thinking or considering his own safety, or the repercussions of what could have happened if he'd failed. Mrs Arvum could have opened her door and, desperate and angry, the pepper may have attacked her, forced himself into her home, taken Anima hostage, taken _her_ hostage, or her kids if he successfully gained access to the house. He could have killed her, or him.

So he got a partner. Dustin, actually.

Dustin was apparently one of their best investigators, and took Anima aside to talk him through exactly what they did, why, and how – deciding that unless it was explained that it just wouldn't occur to the child. It helped. A lot actually. And once Dustin was done, he requested Anima's personal report – the one he had gone through and made notes on, and went through it himself, agreeing here and there, pointing out where he had done _well_ in others – reminding him that it was important to highlight those sections as well, and then returning the report to him with the comment of how it was good practice to do a personal review like that, it showed a self-awareness and willingness to improve that would take him far in the Guard.

Buoyed, he drove his father home in much better spirits than before, the two of them stopping off to collect a rare take-away meal before they got home and sat down together to watch a rather interesting documentary about Crestholm Channels, a water purification plant just on the outskirts between Insomnia's Rainbow Bridge and the Leide border. Very interesting, especially when they even showed what kind of daemons had moved in – they weren't able to go _far_ inside, the camera crew's equipment was too bulky and the channels had flooded, but they went far enough to see a few examples that their Hunter escorts dealt with neatly and efficiently. He had never even _seen_ a daemon, in books or TV shows, so he was immediately fascinated and horrified by the grotesque creatures. His father murmuring about poor tactics started a whole new discussion about daemon slaying that was much more interesting to Anima as he practically draped himself over his father's leg to listen to him and watch the TV at the same time as the Marshal pointed out how the Hunters positioned themselves in the fight, how some of them were less aware of each other than they should have been, no one took advantage of blind-siding the daemons or worked together and how several of them brought rather stupidly oversized weapons into such tight confines. The fact that none of them got injured was a testament to their experience, but also due to a great deal of _luck_.

Nothing was brought up about the incident at work.

His father was still operating on his strict personal rule of leaving work at Work, and so Ani decided to follow suit.

In time, Dustin took him on a lot of covert intelligence gathering cases, taking advantage of his young age to move around and access information he otherwise wouldn't have been able to get. Ingraciating himself with the parents, appearing even more non-hostile, non-descript as just a tired father with a hellion of a kid, Ani cheerfully playing up the role of being a demanding nosy kid, Dustin able to use the openings that Ani provided by being a brat to make his own lines of enquiry. They worked well together, but it was boring work eighty percent of the time. Ani was used to a certain level of physical activity, so he found the sudden drop down a little jarring, and found himself with a lot of restless energy as a result. Not that Dustin was incapable of combat, he was in fact Black ranked, the highest combat ranking within the Guard – same as his father, Silenda, and several other special operatives. But regardless of his preferred investigative cases, Ani's restlessness, coupled with his general 'FIGHT ME' attitude when crossed, meant that they constantly found themselves involved, whether Dustin liked it or not. Oft times it hadn't even been a case, not even an investigation, once they had been on their _lunch break_ when Anima stepped out of the fast-food restaurant, and launched his full cup of strawberry milkshake at a man's head. Dustin hadn't known anything was happening until he stepped out five minutes later, an icecream cone in hand to surprise the now eleven year old, and found him in the middle of arresting a confused and sticky carjacker who thought Dustin's shiny nondescript car would be an easy mark.

That would have been fine.... if it hadn't been just a carjacker.

In the middle of a minor investigation regarding a spate of thefts in the East side, a group of men attempted to talk Anima into climbing into their van – he then proceeded to do so, and use his small stature, tazer, and the confined space within the back of the van to put all _four_ of them down.

Then there was the pair of drug dealers he caught openly smoking in the middle of a children's playpark, jokingly offering him some 'special sweets' that he identified as a badly cut and doctored variation of a military Stimulant that would have probably driven him into heart failure. He had the two handcuffed within his little mobile after a rather violent hunt through the small park after he took one of them down, and the other ran as though Ifrit himself were on his heels.

Not even Anima's days off were exempt from such nonsense. At thirteen, escorting Ignis to one of the Galahdian market places that Libertas told him about to get a couple of rare ingredients, Iris bouncing on his hip, a bright and curious three-year-old bundle of joy, a purse snatcher racing through the streets unceremoniously found himself flying when the teenager stuck his foot out and cheerfully tripped him up. Iris was handed off to Iggy, and Anima cuffed the perp and shoved him into his mobile without fuss before finishing up their shopping trip and pootling off back to the Citadel where both Iris and Iggy were dropped off into Gladio's waiting arms, and the perp was then taken to HQ.

Ani gained a reputation for managing to ferret out the case breaking information purely by luck, and for always managing to walk face first into trouble and get out the otherside usually with nothing more serious than an elixer could fix up. Scrapes and bruises mostly, though there had been a few sprains, a dislocation, a break, and even knife-wounds at one point.

Someone joked that he was living up to his father's legacy, and Ani saw his Dad physically bite his tongue against saying something, his eyes going dark and almost hostile. His father did _not_ like his Immortal nickname, and, remembering how much Harry hated 'the Boy Who Lived', he could empathise. Intimately. Everyone watched the Marshal and his son, saw the way his son looked to him first and foremost, gauging how to take things by how his father reacted. His reaction telling enough to make his son grimace now when they spoke of the Immortal, and joke about his inability to die – and how it had now passed to his son.

(He will never tell them, never share, that he already had. It would break his father's heart.)

Annoyingly, his negative reaction only encouraged a few of them. They thought it was _cute_.

They thought it was _hilarious_ when they found Dustin in the break room with his face in his hands, and Cor sat opposite him looking torn between awkward and proud as he was told about all of his son's escapades in long-suffering detail by his old friend.

He was less than impressed upon informing his Majesty when Regis laughed until he started wheezing, cackling about how Cor now knew how they felt watching him fight anything and everything that looked at him sideways – just wait until he told _Weskham!_

Prometheus would never tell a soul of exactly how undignified his King could be, especially when sat on by his friend, blushing up to his ears, and scowling fit to kill as he mushed the King's cackling face into the carpet and told him that he would do absolutely no such thing.

But like all good things, the happy times..... came to an end.

Ani blinked a moment, “I'm sorry, I think I misheard you?” he asked, bewildered as he stared at Uncle Clarus. When his father had called him into his office, he thought it had been regarding the investigations into the refugee slums and the rumours of Niflheim Sympathisers and gang activity linking up, so he had brought all of his files with him – only to find his father with Uncle Clarus and Auntie Antheia looking grim and solemn.

Uncle Clarus's lips thinned, “There's been an incident. His Highness has been gravely injured.”

The papers in Anima's arms hit the floor of his father's office unnoticed as he stared in horrified silence at the adults in the room, the words finally sinking in. Auntie Antheia swiftly crossed the room to bundle him into her arms, her cheeks wet, and her lovely whiskey coloured eyes puffy and red as though she had been crying for _hours_. Uncle Clarus wasn't looking at him, he was glaring at the wall, his fists balled, his impressively broad shoulders pulled tight within his suit, the fabric at his armpits creasing with strain, as if the tenser he held himself the less likely he was to fall apart, or fly into a rage. And his father.... his father was as still and silent as the statues in the city, but unlike Uncle Clarus who had wound himself so tight it looked as though a loud noise might make him burst, his father stood... disturbingly loose, and balanced.

“H-he's not dead though, right?” he heard his voice ask quietly, helplessly.

Clarus shook his head, “The Marilith _nearly_ killed him,” he admitted heavily as Antheia pressed a kiss to Ani's forehead, “He's in a coma...”

“Where was Uncle Regis? Where were the Guard? How did a _Marilith get near him?!_ ” he demanded with increasing volume and aggression, feeling himself beginning to tense, to wind up the same as Uncle Clarus, feeling his eyes beginning to itch and ache.

No one answered for a beat, and he didn't wait for them either, at fourteen he was full capable of ripping himself out of Antheia's grasp and bolting from the room, leaving the door to slam shut behind him. None of them said anything about Uncle Regis being hurt, that meant he probably wasn't, but Noct – _Noctis_ – was clinging on by a thread, coma-bound, and none of them told him _what his injuries were or why he was in a coma_. He raced to his mobile and slid into the driver's seat. The drive to the Citadel was a blur, he didn't know if he obeyed the traffic laws, if he didn't, if he turned on his lights or not – he didn't remember _any_ of it as he pulled into the underground carpark and scrambled out, not even bothering to close the door behind him as he raced up to the stairs.

Prometheus was waiting for him as he burst into the basement level lobby, “This way, Anima. He is in the Bahamut Medical Wing,” Iggy's father told him as he opened one of the discreet passage-ways that lead to the private lifts, the ones that only the Royal Retinue were even aware of.

He nodded numbly as he stepped in beside the man, “....How.... is he?” he found himself asking.

The Scientia wouldn't lie, or sugar coat it, he trusted him to do that at least. He was fourteen, not a baby. And this was _Noct_ , he _needed_ to know, one servant of the Crown to another.

“Bad. The Marilith cut Miss Narcissa in half, she used her body to shield his Highness, likely that is the only reason he did not suffer the same fate. His spine was partially severed, and medical treatment was, of course, delayed as his Majesty dealt with the daemon personally, his accompanying Guards dealt with the Magitek troopers – ”

“Magitek! It was a deliberate attack?!” he burst, whirling around to face the Retainer. No one mentioned that this had been a deliberate attack!

There was a faint shadow of a grimace on the man's face, he had clearly been unaware that this particular piece of information had not been given to him, “Yes, we believe so.”

His stomach twisted fearfully, how had Niflheim even known that Noctis wasn't within the Crown City? All knowledge of the Royal Family and the Royal Retinue leaving the City was kept strictly need to know – no one save those directly involved needed to know, and thus no one ever _knew_ unless they were accompanying said individuals outside the city! Information regarding Noctis was kept triply quiet and under guard. Meaning that _someone they trusted, someone within their confidence, someone he_ _ **knew**_ _, told Niflheim that his younger brother had left the city – and they_ _ **attacked him**_.

The lift pinged open, and Prometheus lead him through secret passageways and slid out into a disused alcove into silent and empty corridors within the Royal Wing, heading towards the private medical bay, the two Crownsguard stationed outside the door were familiar to him, Lucius and Octavian, they didn't even blink when they saw him, didn't even hesitate before they knocked and opened the door to let him slide in. They had been long term Guards here in the Citadel, they'd seen him chasing the Prince up and down these halls when it was bathtime, when it was bed time, and seen him carrying him balling full of tears and wanting to see his father when it just wasn't possible. Anima was probably one of the very few people they would have opened those doors to without argument, and while he didn't now, he would be unspeakably grateful for it later. But right now.... right now....

The room was brighter than the corridors of the Citadel, the wooden furnishings were a warm walnut colour instead of dark ebony or black, white linen curtains lined the windows instead of heavy velvet drapes, and plants tastefully decorated the corners and side-tables. The room had only six beds, five of them empty, the sixth and final one closest to the window in the furthest corner, was occupied by a tiny figure, accompanied by a single man.

Uncle Regis got to his feet as soon as he came in, his eyes were red and tired, his hands shook ever so slightly, and his clothing was still rumpled and showed spots of blood and dirt, meaning that he had been at Noct's side since the attack. Anima felt his heart drop down to his toes when he got a look at his King's devastated expression.

“No – tell me he isn't –” he croaked in horror, taking a step forward.

The relief when his uncle shook his head was almost enough to bring tears to his eyes as he quickly crossed the room and hugged the man, feeling his body almost slump and bend over him. He _was_ shaking. Anima swallowed the lump in his throat as he squeezed his Uncle tightly, and straightened his back. His King was falling apart, he needed a support, and Anima was old enough to recognise this, to understand it, and willingly step into that role for him right now, even when he too wanted nothing more than to lean into the adults around him and seek reassurance from them. But that left him wondering, who was there to reassure them? To be the one _they_ could lean on?

He didn't let go, or move. He kept his arms around his uncle and his King until _he_ moved away.

Uncle Reggie's eyes were wetter, and puffier than before, and when he sat down it there was a weight upon his shoulders that no amount of Royal Bearing could hold up against. Anima stared at him for a moment before looking at Noct, Noct who was so small and pale on the white bedding, his eyes bruised and sunken in. He stared, and then marched to the medical chart at the bottom of the bed, back straight, shoulders back, and snatched it up to read. He was the only one here right now, _he_ would take care of them! That was his job as Noct's Shield, and without Uncle Clarus here, that meant he would do the same for Uncle Regis. That was his Duty. His Majesty didn't try to stop him, he just returned to clutching his baby's hand, gently trying to rub some life back into it.

Anima swallowed against his anger as he read the papers.

A lot of the jargon went over his head, but from what he was able to understand, Noct had a partially severed spine, his intestines had been damaged, one of his kidneys was bisected, and the muscles in his lower back had also been severed. His kidney had been reconstructed, his intestines stitched back together, his spine had been wired, and right now he was wearing a brace, but his muscles.... _that_ was the real concern for them. He had been lucky to avoid nerve damage, there was no question that Noctis would be able to continue walking and having an active life, he wasn't paralysed, but the muscles along his lumbar had been cut. That had the potential to severely impact his quality of life if they didn't heal.

As for the coma.... They had no explanation for it. Noct suffered no head trauma, there were no infections, and the blades of the daemon had not been poisoned. He just.... wouldn't wake up. At the moment they were theorising that the Lucis Caelum magics were holding him under in order to divert as much energy to healing his injuries as possible as he did demonstrate elevated signs of mental activity despite not waking.

He set the chart down and stared at his littlest brother before nodding.

“Uncle Regis, go and have a bath,” he ordered, placing a hand on his King's shoulder. “I'll sit with him.”

Olive green eyes peered up at him, and for a moment it looked as though he would argue, Anima tried to make himself look as immovable as his father but probably didn't quite pull it off. Never the less, his face softened and he nodded slowly, carefully transferring Noct's tiny cold hand into his own as if handing him the most precious treasure in the Kingdom – which, as far as they were both concerned, was entirely true.

“I leave him in your care, Anima Leonis,” he murmured before getting to his feet and leaning over to kiss his son's forehead, and then doing the same to Ani as he passed.

“I'll send Octavian to get you if anything changes,” he promised as his King slowly made his way to the door.

“Thank you.”

Ani took his seat, grasping Noct's hand in both of his, “Eat something, Uncle. Or we can ask Auntie Demeter to send something up when you come back.”

Regis nodded distantly, “Food sounds like a good idea, thank you Anima. I will come back soon,” he said before leaving, his shoulders a little straighter, his head a little higher.

Ani nodded, waiting until the door closed before looking at his younger brother intently.

He was still, and silent, his eyes motionless beneath his eyelids, but Ani could feel a thrum beneath his fingers, a thread of magic as familiar to him as the wind in his hair, and the sun on his skin. The starlight shimmer of a Patronus charm, a lumos under the bedcovers, an invisibility cloak between his fingers. He gripped Noct's hand tighter, and tried to answer as best he could.

“Keep fighting, Noctis,” he said sharply, glaring at his brother's face, “Don't you dare give up. Come home to us, Noctis. Come home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muahaha delicious delicious feels, everyone's been wondering how Anima would handle the Marilith attack, well, he wasn't even there for it. Neither was Gladio, or Ignis, or Clarus, or Cor. So why would Ani have been there is my reasoning?


	8. Chapter 7

Any attempts to coax Anima out of Noct's sick room were met with the same long and level stare that could be found on his father's face when at his most unyielding, and the more hands on individuals didn't manage to get within five feet before the fourteen year old was reaching for the daggers in his sleeves. In fact, anyone not part of King Regis' retinue or on the medical staff coming into the room often had the young man watching them like a hawk, to the point where the kitchen staff whom he was typically quite close with felt uncomfortable delivering food – leaving Demeter or Ignis to do so on their behalf. Neither of whom minded as it gave Demeter a bit of a break, and it gave Ignis an excuse to come by.

Both Ignis and Gladio seemed to get over whatever disagreement it was that had them hating each other over the last few years – or rather, it seemed as though Ignis forgave Gladio for whatever grudge he was holding that the young Amicitia had likely forgotten about. The two were more united now than they had ever been in their collective efforts to be there for Noctis, and to support Anima as he cared for the smallest of their little quartet as the only time he would even leave to go to the bathroom was when one of them, Clarus, Regis, Prometheus, Demeter, or his father were there to watch over the injured Prince. He trusted _no one else_. Not even the Kingsglaive Captain Drautos was allowed near the little Prince alone.

Despite it being very in character, people still managed to be surprised when he handed his father the official letter of resignation he had been working on, stating his decision to leave the Crownsguard.

“I've been neglecting the most important of my duties,” the fourteen year old admitted, shamefaced as he glanced over his shoulder at Noct's sleeping form as the two of them stood at the foot of his bed, Uncle Regis having stepped out briefly. “Sorry Dad, I can't be in two places, and the Guard has loads of incredible people to protect the city. But I was supposed to protect Noctis, and I wasn't even _there_. I failed you, and Uncle Regis.”

His father took a breath, and folded his letter up, tucking it into his pocket with a solemn nod. “I'm going to keep hold of this, I won't process it just yet. When Noctis recovers, and we've had some time to assess, we'll revisit this. Okay? I'll put you on sabbatical for now,” he decided speaking steadily before reaching out to drag his son into a tight hug. “Don't apologise, Anima. No one could have anticipated Niflheim using _daemons_ to ambush him,” he said, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Even though it was the most logical thing to do, Harry's echo whispered, reminding him of small pox blankets and biological warfare, of damming rivers only to burst them later, of triggering avalanches, suicide bombers, and anthrax in envelopes. Humanity was nasty and would find a way to weaponise a paperclip if given the incentive. He was only surprised it had taken a hundred and forty years of war before someone thought to air-drop a daemon on the enemy. Just their wretched luck that Niflheim decided to do so directly on top of the Crown Prince.

“They'll do this again,” Anima warned quietly, gripping his father's uniform as he glared into the fabric darkly.

“Explain,” his father said, running sword-roughened fingers through his unruly dark hair.

“Daemons. They've realised that airdropping them is a viable tactic. They'll do it again,” he detailed and felt lips on the top of his head.

“This isn't the first time they've done it, Ani. It's just the first time they've managed to get behind the Wall,” he stated softly, making his son bristle furiously in his arms.

“Then we have a traitor.”

Cor froze.

Of all the things to come out of his mouth, and yet...

Almost immediately he wanted to refute the claim, deny it, because no one within the Guard would turn on Regis like that, no one in the Cabinet, and all the Glaives he had spoken with he would vouch for personally. However. Anima... now that his son, who even he had to admit had sharper instincts than his own, had presented this idea to him, he couldn't ignore it, his mind seized upon the idea and turned it over. He had been called a genius in his youth, not simply for his skill with swords and combat, but also for his mind. He was no fool. He may not be wordy, or booksmart, not understand half of what academic language and words that came out of Prometheus's mouth, but it took him less than a heartbeat or five to immediately see the picture his son was painting with that sentence alone.

And agree with it.

 

* * *

 

It took another month of patient waiting, of Anima holding his little brother's hand and reading to him, telling him stories that he remembered as Harry, those fairytales he used to tell him as a much younger child, and when the lights were low, and Uncle Regis slept in one of the other beds on Noct's other side, sometimes he would lean his head forward, gripping with both his hands, and whisper spells against the eight year old's palm. Whispering the patronus charm over and over and _over_ again, willing with everything he had, _commanding_ what faint threads of power he called his own to reach out, to shield his brother, to protect him. Because if there was any means, any way, to send Prongs to him where-ever it was his mind and soul had retreated to, he would take it if he could not go himself.

So he waited, he prayed, he whispered his charms, and told his stories.

And finally, two months after the incident, Noctis opened his eyes.

Uncle Regis was sat in his chair, a wheeled desk in front of him as he signed papers and read through reports on the state of Insomnia. On Noct's otherside, Anima had hold of his little brother's hand, and was scrolling through his phone reading funny jokes that he found on moogletube to them both using his other.

Neither of them noticed the eight year old opening his eyes, but they definitely reacted when he huffed a weak laugh at the stupid chocobo joke that Ani read out not long after.

 

* * *

 

Noctis remembered everything, too much of everything, really, to be the same happy bright careless child he used to be. He fell into silence and melancholy, holding himself responsible for the deaths of Miss Narcissa, and the many Crownsguard he had known for almost his entire life who had lost theirs in the attack. He became quiet and listless, nothing his father said or did could help – even Ani had difficulty coaxing more than a smile out of him. The loss of his legs had hit him hard, the loss of Miss Narcissa harder still.

Ani was somewhat ashamed to admit that he had been purposefully trying not to remember the fact that she was admist the casualties of the night – he had considered her as much of a friend a boy his age could consider an adult a friend. Their rivalry over Noct's care as he was young had turned into a collaborative effort once Ani was old enough to pull his head out of his ass, and if he allowed himself to remember the kind woman, he would get upset, and then be would be useless to Noctis, to Uncle Regis, and his dad. He had to suck it up, push his feelings to one side, and hold himself together for them, because they were already close to breaking, and with everyone else focused on their duties, Ani was the only solid presence in their lives. And he refused to be anything less than a pillar of support for them, he would not falter or fail them in this moment of need.

Then...

“Tenebrae?” Ani blurted in excitement, almost at the same time as Noct yelped, “Go outside the Wall?!” with a very real thread of fear in his voice.

Uncle Regis smoothed a hand through his beloved's hair, smiling kindly at him with familiar sad eyes, “Yes. I have asked for the Oracle Queen's help in getting you back on the mend,” he explained gently, “It will be another three weeks before transportation can be arranged, but it is our best chance at healing the damage done to your back muscle.”

Anima folded his arms and frowned at his uncle, arching a pointed eyebrow, and making him snort in amusement when he caught sight of it over Noct's head, “You can stop glaring at me so, Anima. I have already spoken with your father about your coming with us. That is something you will need to speak to him about,” he explained with a grin as Noct stiffened and looked between them with growing hope.

“Can – _can_ Ani come with us?” the little Prince asked desperately, reaching up to grab his father's suit.

“I'll ask Dad,” Anima promised, “Right now.” He darted forward, Noctis leaning into the hug and kiss he pressed to the eight year old's head, clutching tightly to the knife his brother pressed into his hands before he turned on heel and rushed from the room.

Regis looked down at the dagger now in his son's hands, “Since when has this been happening?” he found himself asking as he eyed the wicked looking thing. That was not a _training_ knife, that was one of the Orichalcum daggers that Cor had gotten Anima specifically for his eleventh birthday. They were rare, and he had gone out of his way to have a set shipped in from Meladacio Hunter HQ. Not that Regis was surprised that Anima would part with one, of all the children he was often the first and easiest to give something up for one of the others, be it time, affection, attention, food, or an object.

Noctis gripped the dagger tightly, “Since I woke up,” he admitted quietly, “It's less scary if – Ani said it has anti-daemon power,” he explained anxiously.

He huffed a smile and kissed his son's forehead, and made absolutely no move to take it off him. He had wondered what the little Leonis had done that allowed his son to sleep easy in his bed after the first few terrible nights. Of course it would have been a weapon the ever practical child had given his son, and of course it worked. He was entirely too much like his father, Regis decided with humour and gratitude in equal measure, and wondered which of the Astrals he needed to pay homage to for bringing the Leonis family to his own, and more still, giving them their loyalty.

“That it does. Uncle Cor had to pay a pretty gil to have that sent to Insomnia. It will most definitely hurt any daemon that dares come near,” he promised, feeling his beloved relax into him.

“When I get better, Ani promised to teach me how to use it.... Can I?” he asked hopefully.

Regis would have told him he could ride a chocobo to and from school and never eat another vegetable again in his life if it brought that thread of hope to his voice. He kissed his son again, “Of course. And I'm sure Gladio would be thrilled to assist whenever Anima must be elsewhere.”

And he likely would be, Regis thought as his son got comfortable against him and went back to playing with his phone. As much as Anima said he was content with resigning from the Crownsguard to become Noct's Shield full time, he would get _dreadfully_ bored and quite quickly so. He had blossomed within the high-turn over, fast-paced combative life of a Crownsguard. If it weren't for the age restrictions on the Kingsglaive, which was set at sixteen, there was little doubt in his head that Cor's vicious coeurl kitten would have signed up in a heartbeat, and taken the fight directly to Niflheim's doorstep.

Undoubtedly he would be accepting the fourteen year old's oath before the day was out though, Cor had already approached him about sharing magic with the child and giving him access to the Armiger as Noct's primary Shield, and the only one that would be coming with them to Tenebrae.

 

* * *

 

The next three weeks were possibly the most gruelling of Anima's short life, but it was also undeniably the most interesting and rewarding as well.

 _Bootcamp_.

Not that it was called that, but he could think of no other term that fit the sixteen hour gruelling training regime he was given day in, and day out, at his father's personal attention, with the occasional afternoon with Auntie Antheia and Uncle Clarus, and once, even with Captain Drautos – not that he taught him much beyond how to take a beating, which had its place and value in a fight as well, so he took it without complaint and got right back up, spitting blood to one side and lifting his blade ready to meet him again.

Drautos was a notorious hardass, and no matter how much Nyx may have respected and admired him, Ani didn't like him. He respected him, his skill, his strength, but he did not _like_ him. And he got the impression that the feeling was mutual. Still, by the end of his training sessions with the man, he liked to think he had earned the bastard's respect as a stubborn son of a bitch if nothing else.

He worked his fucking ass off, and by the end of the three weeks he was put through another combat assessment by his father, privately, and utilising the full extent of his abilities, including the ones given to him by Uncle Regis.

He was still a few years off from ever managing to defeat his father in a fight, but this time? _This time_.... It was actually a _fight_ instead of his father mopping the floor with him. And when he brought magic into the fight? He surprised even his father with the many and varied applications he came up with – and ended up in a lot of trouble when he _accidentally_ removed half of the wall with one technique in particular.

It was a good thing his father was very quick with his magical barriers – he managed to catch all of the broken wall segments before they dropped and killed someone below.

“Don't use that again,” he ordered stiffly, looking a few shades paler as he eyed the damage to the wall and then eyed the flickering of the Wall in the distance, and the tiny pin-prick of bright light that was Anima's attack hitting and disappating against it.

Ani nodded sheepishly, “Yes sir.”

He was awarded a Black rank for his combat, and given a pin of Bahamut's Sword, denoting him as one of the few that the King had opted to share his power with. He would gain more Sword pins equal to his ability as there were apparently ranks _within_ Black – and he was currently on the bottom rung. His father smirked at the look of determination on his face and ruffled his long sweaty hair, saying that he knew he'd catch up some day.

The next day at breakfast, he was given a katana.

“Mine,” his father admitted, jerking his head in a gesture for him to examine the blade.

Anima didn't have to, he knew this blade as intimately as he knew his father's hands, the many callouses on his palms had come from this blade afterall. Kikuichimonji. Not as finely crafted as his father's preferred blade, Kotetsu, but stunning none the less. Lighter, more easily wielded by someone his age and height. Perfectly balanced with golden inlay on the blade at the hilt of yellow chrysanthemums to match the yellow and green hilt wrappings. The sheath was lacquered black wood, and adorned with aged gold chrysanthemum decorations at the bottom. Tucked within the slightly sweat-stained yellow wrappings was a small Bahamut charm for luck in combat.

“Thanks Dad,” he whispered, gripping the sword tightly, unable to name the feeling that filled his chest and choked him all of a sudden.

His father nodded solemnly, and returned to his coffee and newspaper, “Bring them home safely,” he ordered.

“I will.”

 

* * *

 

They snuck out of Insomnia in the back of a nice car being driven by Lady Amaugh, ostensibly on her yearly pilgrimage to Altissia to visit her son. It was an often enough occurrence, and scheduled conveniently enough at the appropriate time of year that they weren't even stopped by the border patrol Crownsguard, and instead were waved on through.

She drove them all the way to Galdin Quay where they had a fantastic dinner, and quietly stayed the night in the Hotel – or as quietly as Anima let them as he and Noctis insisted on building a pillow fort and getting into a loud argument over who was sleeping in what bed much to the tired amusement of the adults who were well aware that Anima was instigating these noisy events in order to make them appear as normal a travelling family as possible. Eventually when sleeping arrangements were decided, it was unsurprising that Regis shared with his son, and Anima ended up sharing with Lady Amaugh. He promised to be on his best behaviour, and keep his hands to himself, though with such a beautiful lady it would truly be a trial he confessed, complete with dorky eyebrow waggling that set Noctis into peels of laughter and childish spurts of 'gross!' and 'ew!'. He also got hit in the face with a pillow by the woman herself as she giggled, familiar with his over the top flattery by now after he overheard a few of the older cleaning girls complain that no one ever complimented them anymore now that they were older – so he made it a habit to outrageously flatter ladies and gentlemen over a certain age (not even Regis was exempt sometimes, the only one who escaped such treatment was Clarus and that was simply because Anima was ninety-percent certain Auntie Antheia would disembowel him with a spoon).

They woke with the dawn the next morning, they ate a slightly disappointing breakfast, and then they sat a little while, waiting for the ship to come in before they parted ways. The two children _might_ have bothered a couple of hunters after they finished talking to the tipster behind the counter, but the two rough looking men were happy to talk to them – especially after Uncle Regis offered to buy them a meal as thanks for humouring them. Noctis wanted to know all about the strange places they'd been, while Anima asked them about tactics as they fought certain beasts and daemons (the two hunters thought they were absolutely precious and quietly informed Regis of this before they left, grinning wildly, and telling him to keep an eye on his eldest before he ran off to pick a fight against something bigger than he could handle. Intimately reminded of fifteen year old Cor's furious attempt to take down a Catoblpas single handed, Regis could only feel a sinking sensation of cold familiar dread and a new onslought of grey hair. The hunters burst out laughing at the look on his face, and assumed that Anima already _had_ ).

Lady Amaugh got on her ship to Altissia, wishing them luck, and giving them all kisses on the cheeks before she went. And thankfully for the King's blood-pressure, Anima was better behaved than his father, and after piggy-backing Noctis back to the car (the chair being hidden within the Armiger as people would remember a child in a wheelchair much more easily than a family bidding mum goodbye on her trip with a pair of rowdy boys) he settled down in the back seat of the car to distract Noctis for the rest of the trip to Caem.

The plan was that they left Insomnia with Lady Amaugh, and she would get on her scheduled ship to Altissia, leaving them and her car in Galdin Quay, they would then take the car and drive to Cape Caem where Uncle Regis had a holiday home and a boat that he planned to sail them all the way to Tenebrae in. They would stay with Queen Sylvia for a few days until she found a gap in her schedule that wouldn't make anyone suspicious if she was missing for an afternoon so that she could heal Noctis. They would then leave, sail back to Caem, drive back to Galdin Quay, and then wait for Lady Amaugh's return. She typically only visited her son for a month, and it took almost a week to sail to Tenebrae.

No one knew about the secret dock in Cape Caem, no one except Uncle Regis, Uncle Clarus, Dad, someone called Cid, and Lady Amaugh's son, Weskham, who lived in Altissia as a chef in his own restaurant. And now both Anima and Noctis.

It was both exciting and a little worrying because.... what if – he didn't know, there was something nagging at him now that they were on the road on their own. Ani kept playing Eye Spy with Noctis, taking every opportunity to turn his eyes to the world around him to carefully scan their surroundings for something _off_.

There wasn't anything, of course. But he couldn't deny the bad feeling in his stomach as they finally pulled up to the parking bay outside the light-house. A pretty young woman manning an item car waved at them, smiling brightly as her eyes flickered across the car and their clothes – no doubt the good quality of both screaming money, and thus sales opportunities. Well, Anima was about to make her day.

Noct hanging off his back, he quickly made his way over and started asking her about prices.

He had enough for a few restoratives. True he had been saving that money to get goodies for the boys and Iris, but he didn't think they'd take too much issue if he used it on restoratives. If he was wrong, he'd accept the teasing but....

Uncle Regis looked amused, and a little bewildered as Anima jogged over to him, restoratives in a little cloth bag on his wrist, Noctis dangling off his neck with a giggle as they climbed the broken stone steps up to the house. It... reminded him a little bit of the Burrow, just less lived in, less lively. The whole thing looked a little hard-done by, with the overgrown gardens, the untended little plot of land, and of course the broken stone steps. Once out of sight of the parking bay, Anima stowed his purchases into the Armiger, hiked Noct's legs up a little higher on his sides and jogged to the cliff-edge to look out.

“There's a fishing dock!” Noctis exclaimed, pointing down to their right where he could see the distant curve of not only a Haven, but also the wooden jetty that was unmistakably a fishing spot.

“Huh, I bet you could get some good fish there!” Anima agreed as Noctis wriggled a little on his back. For all that it was an old man sport, Noctis was fish-mad. Ani had his own theories on the matter, specifically that it was the only way that Noct could spend long stretches of time uninterrupted with his father, but it seemed as though he genuinely enjoyed the sport as well. “If we get back soon enough, we'll bully Uncle Regis into taking us,” he suggested, making the man laugh behind them.

“Bully nothing. I'd be waiting for you down there,” he teased as the two boys grinned up at him. He gestured, “Let me show you something _really_ cool.”

The trio made their way into the lighthouse, and, with a sly grin on his face as they all piled into the lift, he yanked the handle the _wrong_ direction until a loud thunk was heard – he _broke_ it!

And then they went _down_.

Both Anima and Noctis's mouths were in perfect o-shapes as they scrambled out of the lift into the _secret harbour under the light house_.

“I thought we were going to have to go around the edge of the cliff!” Anima blurted in excitement as he carried Noctis around the underground bunker, the whirring and clunking electric lights filling the room with a dirty orange-yellow glow. Uncle Regis laughed but didn't bother to explain as neither of the two were listening as Noctis directed Anima around the secret base, poking into this and that with great enthusiasm, until Anima found a certain picture.

“Is that Uncle Clarus?!” the two children blurted in shock as soon as they saw the picture, and the very different form of their Uncle in the image.

“Pfft! What happened to his haaaair-hahah!” Anima started laughing as Regis peered over his shoulder and snorted.

“That's Cid,” he corrected with fond amusement, “Clarus actually took the photograph. There's your father, Ani. And this here is Weskham, Lady Amaugh's son,” he explained, pointing to the young man, not much older than Anima himself, broad shouldered, deep chested, stood to military attention with his hands behind his back, and a beret upon his head, and then to a dark skinned man in fine clothing, with folded arms and neat facial hair. Between the two however was the man the pair had mistaken for their Uncle Clarus, an older man in oily jeans, a leather jacket, brown hair framing a weather beaten face, as he lifted his cap to look into the camera properly. “Cid lived at the outpost we passed on our way to Galdin Quay, the mechanic workshop, Hammerhead. He owns and runs it with his granddaughter,” he explained as he collected the photograph from Anima's hands. He snorted as he stared at the photo, “I look strange without a beard,” he decided.

“I'll say,” Ani agreed, prompting laughter from Noctis behind him.

Regis scruffed a hand through his hair, making the teenager laugh and duck away. “Come on, joker. We'll see how that good humour lasts after a week at sea.”

Unfortunately for everyone on board, it didn't last twenty minutes.

Anima got _horrifically_ sea sick.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used to get sea sick, so I have so much sympathy for Anima/Harry. Hence why I have a habit of making him sea sick in my fics, for a boy so airborne I like to imagine that water travel is like anathema to him. Fucks him up hard. I don't get sea sick anymore, annoyingly. I seemed to have swapped my sea-sickness for motion sickness with games. So playing most of my PS4 games will have me vomiting within twenty minutes unless I take travel sickness pills. 
> 
> And I stopped joining Dad on his fishing trips almost twenty years ago. So really. This change? Sucks so much hairy asscrack.


	9. Chapter 8

Tenebrae was lush and green and beautiful, and Anima saw exactly _none_ of it as he sat on his bunk below deck, shivering and miserable as he waited for the world to stop moving and his body to stop hating him. The first few days had seen Noctis stuck like a burr to his side, concerned and frightened by how he wasn't getting better, but eventually he relaxed and seemed to have decided that Anima wasn't going to get any worse, and nor was he going to get better, just _stinkier_ , and abandoned him to spend some time with his father.

He told himself it didn't matter, but he was fourteen, it did _sting_ a little. Uncle Regis spent what time he wasn't driving the ship hovering over the both of them with worry, Noct loved the attention, and soaked up his father's time like a sponge. Ani was completely content to try and sleep as much of the journey away as possible, eating plain bread, warm soup, and bottles of water – things that weren't going to irritate his stomach, or cause him too much discomfort if they came back up.

Still, no matter how rotten he felt, he needed to make a good impression, he didn't want to embarrass his father _or_ Uncle Regis. He forced himself from his bunk and into the shower. He cleaned himself up, a piping hot shower to clear his head followed by an absolutely frigid one to stop himself from feeling so sticky and unsteady. Refreshed, he quickly dried off and dressed in his official Crownsguard uniform, tied his boots, braided his shoulder-length dark brown hair back, tied Kikuichimonji to his belt, and rejoined the royals out on deck, swallowing against his sour stomach and the vinegary saliva threatening to build beneath his tongue.

“You're looking better, Anima,” Uncle Regis observed as he stepped out.

“Key word: Look,” the teenager stressed before offering him a thin smile, “I'll do my best not to embarrass, Uncle Regis, but it's probably best I don't open my mouth for a few hours once we're on dry land.”

He smiled sympathetically, “Clarus hated sailing too,” he confided as he gestured at Cor's son to take a seat as they sailed down deep green canals towards Fenestala Manor.

Anima stared up at the castle set upon the cliff-face, at the high-conical peaks of blue, the pale white stone dyed gold in the setting of the distant sun, the thick lush greenery, glowing lights through diamond lattice windows, and felt a sudden stab of pain, nostalgia, and homesickness from the Harry echo within him that his stomach clenched violently and he nearly vomited again. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath until the twist in his stomach stretched away and his chest ached with the amount of air in it, and then he breathed out slowly.

“You okay?” Noctis asked quietly next to him, peering up from his 3ds.

Anima opened his eyes and smiled at him, “I will be when we get off this boat,” he said for the n'th time this trip, making Noct wrinkle his nose and return to his game, business as usual, nothing to be alarmed about. He huffed a short breath of amusement, must be nice to be the youngest, he decided lazily as they drifted under a rocky outcropping crawling with hanging ivy and vines, and into a tunnel leading beneath the ramparts of Fenestala's estate walls. The gardens were rife with flowers and greenery, bright butterflies and dragonflies flitting from trumpeting bloom to delicate tendrils, the symbolic sylleblossoms planted at the feet of fountains and white-stone features, framed in white flowers and pale grasses.

Eventually they drifted beneath the manor itself, and into a basement dock made of pale-grey stone, heavy dark wood, and manned by none other than the eldest son of the Oracle herself and a woman dressed in black stood a little behind him.

As soon as the King manoeuvred the ship close enough, porters were immediately moving to bring them in closer and tie them off. Gang planks were brought out and Anima hopped onto it first, perching carefully as Uncle Regis lifted Noctis up and over to him.

“Excited?” Ani asked quietly as he carried Noct down the gang-plank the rest of the way. His Prince nodded, peering over his shoulder at the pair currently waiting for them at the other-end of the dock. Once on the stonework, Anima called the wheelchair out of the Armiger, ignoring the way the Tenebraean Prince jerked in surprise as he lowered his little brother into it. “You good? Comfy?” he asked carefully in an undertone as he got the eight year old settled.

“Yes, Ani,” he assured, well aware that as soon as Ani straightened out and stepped back he would be in Shield mode, which meant stonefaced background NPC, if he was uncomfortable he would have to say something _now_ because Ani wouldn't be stepping in to fuss after him once he did. He would be a bodyguard, not his brother. The fourteen year old waited a moment longer before nodding, offering him a quick smile and a wink before his faced smoothed over and he stood straight, shoulders going back, and he immediately moved to the side as Noct's father took hold of the handled to his wheelchair with a nod to his son's Shield as he fell into a respectful position to his left and just behind.

“Welcome to Tenebrae, King Regis Lucis Caelum,” the young Prince greeted with a careful bow, “On behalf of this house I, Ravus Nox Fleuret, grant you sanctuary within our home, and bid you welcome,” he announced as he straightened and turned slightly with a graceful sweep of his arm towards the corridor behind them that lead deeper into the building.

Uncle Regis bowed, Noct awkwardly following suit in his chair, Ani did not. Primarily because if he bowed he might just faceplant into the stone flooring, but also because he was here as _protection_ and he was not going to be taking his eyes off his surroundings just to observe manners. Noctis had been attacked _inside_ the Wall, in his own Kingdom. This was Tenebrae, yes they had been as careful as they could be, but it was still a province of _Niflheim_ , and had been for four hundred years now despite their leaving sovereign control to the line of the Oracle (probably because to try and wrest it from them would have people _across the planet_ in fucking riots). Nothing had happened on the boat despite his sea-sickness, and his anxiety continued to eat at him, making his skin itch and his fingertips tingle. Something was going to go wrong on this trip, he could feel it down to his bones.

The only question was whether it would happen _in_ Tenebrae, or on their way home from it.

He had to be vigilant. _Always_.

“The Line of Lucis Caelum thanks House Nox Flueret for its kind generosity in this time of need,” Uncle Regis demurred as he straightened, and smiled at the sixteen year old boy, “May I introduce my son, Noctis Lucis Caelum, and his Primary Shield, Anima Leonis.”

The Prince offered a small smile of greeting to Noctis who nervously smiled back, never particularly good at dealing with new people despite Anima's best efforts to socialise him. Then the older Prince looked at him, and didn't quite seem to know what to do when Anima met his gaze head on, hands tucked behind his back and his shoulders squared like his father.

Ravus Nox Fleuret had silver coloured eyes, almost white, the fourteen year old noted absently as the Prince swallowed and seemed to realise he was staring and nodded politely to cover his silence.

“A pleasure. Please, follow me. Mother has set aside rooms for you within the Royal Wing, to prevent outside interests from realising your presence,” he explained delicately.

His Majesty offered some manner of polite platitude, but Ani had stopped paying attention to the royals as they performed their particular dance of decorum, his attention caught by the woman at Prince Nox Fleuret's back. The one that was most _certainly_ not human, and while it may have been a few years, he wasn't likely to forget the face of an Astral Messenger when she was stood in front of him and he could _feel_ the magic she held. Not a blizzard of power, but a frozen lake deeper and colder than death itself. He should have realised that the Astrals would keep close watch upon the family of the Oracle, especially with Niflheim sinking their claws ever deeper into the country of Tenebrae. They would be concerned about attempts to end the line, or even just simple _accidents_.

He remained silent and discreet as he fell into step with the Royal Precession as the Prince led them through the corridors of Fenestala Manor, realising almost immediately that they hadn't sailed into a secret dock, just a service one. And that the corridors they were being led through were more commonly used by the servants to get to the kitchens, ballrooms, and wings without disturbing any of the Nox Fleurets' or their guests. Somehow, the Holy Messenger managed to vanish from sight the second he took his eyes off her, and was now no where to be found which made almost every single hair on the back of his neck stand straight with discomfort. There hadn't even been the typical crack of displaced hair that followed an apparation, nor the strange whisking sound that announced a portkey activation, or the newly familiar distorted sound of Glaive warp-jumping.

He kept a hand on his father's sword at his waist, fingertips tracing the Bahamut charm amidst the wrappings. Drawing strength from its presence and the knowledge that he could defend the people he loved.

They Royal Wing they stepped out into was beautiful. White woods, blue trimmings, floor to ceiling windows framed in airy gossamer curtains, circles and arches and swirling natural designs accompanied by potted plants and crystal decorations here and there giving Fenestala Manor an entirely different aesthetic and air to the Citadel. Despite it's outwardly familiar architecture, inside there was none of the heartache or nostalgia from his Harry echo. And even though he knew there were two witches and a divine messenger being accommodated here, there wasn't a lick of magic about the building itself. It was simply that. A building. Beautiful, elegant, _opulent_ , but ultimately mundane. Very clever. Tenebrae had always been ruled by the Oracle Queen, where as Insomnia was ruled primarily by Kings – there had been less than ten queens in her history, one of which being biologically male at birth at that. No doubt, and he hoped Auntie Antheia didn't kick his ass for assuming such, the gender preferences of each kingdom played a large role in the aesthetics of their respective domains. One also had to account for the Empure and how the war had affected everything for them both: Insomnia was in a constant state of mourning for the lives lost fighting, the Citadel had to look powerful, imposing, dignified, a pillar of strength for the people filled with hard lines and dark colours. Tenebrae had _lost_ their war against Niflheim almost four hundred years ago to the decade now. It was particularly clever, he felt, of their Queens to make themselves look as frivolous and non-threatening as possible. Men in positions of power rarely looked at a woman and thought them a threat until she had a blade in his chest if she played her part carefully enough.

Very few knew, and he sincerely doubted that Niflheim did, that the Lucis Caelums and the Oracles shared _exactly_ the same magics, gifted to them by the same Astral. That a King could take up the role of an Oracle, and vice versa, with ease. The only difference was their training and their national culture guiding them into certain roles.

“Will you all be – ” Prince Nox Fleuret trailed off as he drew attention back onto himself, glancing between Anima who met him stare for stare, and King Regis who waited patiently for him to finish his question. He cut himself off and looked away, “No, no, of course not.”

King Regis offered the boy a kind smile, “We will share,” he informed the teenager, “All three of us. Do not worry, your Highness. We have imposed upon your family's hospitality and mercy, I would not do so further by demanding another room.”

Prince Nox Fleuret nodded slowly, casting a doubtful glance in Ani's direction, “I see. Well then, again, welcome to Fenestala Manor, your Majesty.” He bowed and waited for them to do the same before turning on heel and walking away carefully, the tips of his ears slowly turning red as he did so.

Regis waited until he was out of sight before chuckling a little, “Come on, let us get ourselves settled.”

The room was beautiful, whites with blues and silvers, handsome red-wood furnishings mixed with leafy green plants. It was a whole miniature suite, the living room was stunning, and through a small corridor it lead into a bedroom with en-suite bathroom. And only two beds.

Anima stared at them and then shrugged, true enough in this life he'd never actually slept on anything less than an actual bed, but Harry had spent a decade in a cupboard, he could handle the rug no problem. And besides, it was unlikely he would be sleeping much in the night – best he get his sleep in the morning when Uncle Regis was awake and around to protect Noctis, and he look after both of them at night.

“How are you feeling, Anima?” Uncle Regis asked, the line of his shoulders and back dropping as he allowed himself to slouch a little now they were behind closed doors, as always, looking exhausted and washed out with the strain of holding the Wall – worse now that they were half a world away.

Taking it as all the cue he needed, he slumped suddenly with a groan, “Lingering heartburn. I'll be fine. I don't need to vomit anymore but the chance to sleep properly would be appreciated,” he complained a little before shrugging and rubbing at his chest.

Uncle Regis gestured to the bedroom, “Get some rest then. I doubt Noctis and I will be doing much today.”

Anima nodded slowly, and then ruffled Noct's hair before making his way into the bedroom, absently stowing his father's sword into the armiger as he went with a twist of his wrist.

 

* * *

 

The afternoon passed quietly, Regis and Noctis entertaining themselves in the living room with their books and gaming devices, food was brought to them discreetly by a maid doing her 'rounds'. Anima was woken up for that and eagerly dug into his food with the appetite one might expect from a half-starved teenage boy, though with better table manners – Uncle Prometheus and Auntie Aulea had drilled proper etiquette into his head so he wouldn't end up embarrassing Regis or Noctis on anything official.

“What did you think of Ravus?” Uncle Regis asked over their meal, lips twitching a little as Anima casually stole Noct's discarded vegetables from his plate, ravenously hungry and not about to let anything go to waste.

Ani shrugged, “Not much muscle mass, probably doesn't take physical training as seriously as he should for a Shield. Other than that, can't say,” he admitted, not looking up from his plate as he quickly quartered a potato and consumed it with some carrot and meat.

Regis chuckled, “Prince Ravus isn't his sister's Shield. The Oracles don't have them,” he pointed out.

Anima paused, and then straightened up in confused indignity. He swallowed his mouthful with some difficulty and frowned at his Uncle, “What do you mean, the Oracles don't have Shields? Who protects them when they go on their pilgrimages?” he asked sharply before setting his knife and fork down, “Who in their right mind thought it was appropriate for a young woman of Royal blood to wonder the world from haven to haven, town to village to farm, healing the sick and laying Blessings _without_ protection from Fiends and Daemons?”

“That sounds really stupid,” Noctis agreed with a worried look on his face.

The King burst out laughing, having to lean back and slap his leg at the twin looks of irritation on the childrens' faces. “It isn't – hehe, the Oracles differ from the Lucis Caelums' in that they are patroned by _all_ of the gods and messengers, where as we are the followers of only the Draconian,” Uncle Regis explained once his laughter had died down. Anima frowned a little, they.... followed the God of _War_? “The Oracle is usually in her twenties when she is crowned, and often accompanied by Messengers while she makes the first of her pilgrimages. The people wouldn't dare raise a hand to her, and most Fiends are intelligent enough to steer clear of the power they sense from the Messengers.”

Anima hummed doubtfully, but apparently that was enough for Noctis to be assured, he commented on how cool it must be to travel with one of the messengers and returned to his food. Somehow.... Ani got the feeling that Niflheim weren't going to allow _that_ practice to continue for much longer considering how they had managed to kill the Glacian when she awoke from her millennia long slumber and suddenly began to make her move towards Zegnautus. Not only that, but the last Anima had heard, or rather, managed to dig up out of the deepest dustiest of the archives was that... there were maybe _five_ Messengers remaining out of the original twenty-four, the others all slaughtered in their desperate fight against some kind of malevolent daemon that tore the valley of Vesper down to the bedrock, and killed the ruling Oracle of the time, forcing the Lucis Caelum King of the era to take up her trident, and her duties, until her daughter was ready for them.

There was a lot of ambiguity in the records regarding that period in time and all the events surrounding Vesper. Supposedly the site of an ancient Solheim temple dedicated to the Hydrean's death aspect, it was _conquered_ by the first Queen of Lucis, the Rogue. Her tomb rested within the Myrlwood as was tradition for the Lucis Caelums to set their graves within the territories they conquered (and now that he was getting older, finding out they worshipped a god of war, and had a habit of burying their deceased monarchs in conquered lands, left something bitter in his mouth and made his stomach twist with uncertainty). However, she came into her role as ruler only when her father and her _brothers_ passed, dying in the battle. But the fight to conquer the territories of Vesper were often associated with the battle that the Oracle King gained the trident, and the fall of the Messengers. It was known that the Oracle and the King of the time were romantically involved, likely meaning that whatever children they had, the daughters would have been slated for Oracle training, and the sons for Lucis. Did that mean that the King of the time had already passed his title onto his son who took up the role of his wife, leaving his sister to become Queen? Or was it the _Queen_ who had been romantically involved with the Oracle of the time and took up her trident upon her death? There was evidence to suggest that. The Rogue was famous for never showing her face, for ruling from the shadows, and the King of the battle at Vesper commanded from the backlines while the Messengers took the front.

History was such a pain, and if Harry's voice hadn't been urging him to scour every inch of it for magic, he likely wouldn't have bothered exploring _any_ of it – at least, not long enough to actually find it interesting enough to do off his own back.

Anima sighed and put his thoughts aside, perhaps if Noctis wanted to look at the books, he may have the opportunity to explore the archives here – if there were any left. Four hundred years under the thumb of Niflheim would mean that they were likely destroyed, or so well hidden they 'didn't exist', and the commoner born Shield of a foreign Prince wasn't going to have a snowball's chance at Ravatogh of getting access.

It would still be cool to find out though. The history of the monarchs was surprisingly spotty given how they were royalty, however, it was also _unsurprising_ if you took into account that, apparently, from the conception of the Royal Line they had been at _war_ the whole time. Ugh, his feelings were getting complicated on this.

He looked up at Uncle Regis, question _stinging_ the tip of his tongue.

But the man didn't notice his gaze, leaning back in his chair with his eyes shut and just breathing. He looked tired. And old. But the tightness around his eyes was gone, he no longer looked so helpless and lost anymore. He was here, in Tenebrae, seeking help in to heal his son, he was doing everything he could for his baby. He was content.

Anima swallowed the words that sat bitter and painful in his mouth and drained the last of his drink.

' _Did Niflheim attack Lucis because we tried to Conquer them first?_ '

 

* * *

 

Nights in Tenebrae were quiet. _Deathly_ quiet for all that they were surrounded by mountains and greenery and life.

Anima padded silently into the bedroom, giving the room a careful look over as he had done several times that night at random intervals. Uncle Regis was sleeping soundly on his side, for the second time that night Anima tugged the blankets back over his bad leg – he left the other uncovered, if his Uncle had trouble controlling his bodyheat then he needed it exposed, but the last thing they wanted was his bad leg to start cramping and aching. Noct was flat on his back, wearing his back-brace and looking uncomfortable, little fingers wrapped tightly around the dagger Ani had given him after he woke up. It had become something of a bedtime ritual for Noct to finish brushing his teeth, get strapped into his brace, and then have Anima summon the dagger into his hands while kissing him goodnight.

He passed the windows, peering out into the darkness but saw nothing different from usual, and then returned to the living room where he got comfortable on the couch again. It was a good thing he was used to long stretches of time on guard duty – they figured out that relegating him to investigations was just asking him to ferret out more trouble, so as punishment duty he got assigned guard duty now.

The near silent whisper of a footstep behind him immediately had him on his feet, and his sword in hand before he even saw who it was that managed to get through the locked door, the locked windows, and behind him while he watched just about every entrance in and out of the room with his back facing a wall.

The Holy Messenger merely smiled demurely at him as he froze in place.

He stared at her for a moment and carefully took a step back, but did not sheath his sword. He didn't know _why_ she was in here, but if she made a move towards the bedroom he was going to kill her – it would probably be an utterly hopeless endeavour, but the noise would probably wake Uncle Regis up quickly enough to grab Noctis and get out of the window.

Hazel coloured eyes flicked open, and the woman's crimson smile deepened in what he would tentatively call approval. Which only made him more suspicious.

“Shield, Sword, Hand, and Heart. The King of Kings is well protected indeed,” the woman observed softly, her voice barely a whisper but echoing loudly in his ears, impossible to ignore or miss despite the distance and the scarce volume of her words.

Anima frowned at her, King of Kings? He had never heard of Uncle Regis being referred to like that. And... he had _lost_ his Hand and his Heart years ago. Mister Armaugh being injured and being forced to remain in Altissia because he wouldn't have survived the journey back to Insomnia, Mister Sophiar remained in Leide after a big argument about the refugees coming into Insomnia. It took years, but his Dad was able to step into the role of the Heart on occasion when Uncle Regis needed it most, but it was a poor fit for him and they all knew it. Dad was far more apt to go and stab whatever was causing Uncle Regis upset, not listen to his friend and provide a shoulder to lean on until his King could face the problem himself. If Dad found out there was a problem, he would try to fix it rather than let Uncle Regis face it himself. He was too much of a Sword to be the Heart that his King needed all the time.

Did she mean _Noctis?_

“What do you mean, ' _King of Kings_ '?”Anima demanded sharply with narrowed eyes. Noctis didn't _have_ either a Sword or a Heart. He had two Shields and a Hand, he hadn't found someone he trusted enough to be his Heart, and no one had been raised, or found, to fill the position of Sword. Given how Noctis was unlikely to ever _leave_ Insomnia, there had been talk of his never even _having_ one. It was a.... frowned upon role. Violent. Warlike. And put people in mind of assassins (hah, if only they knew what the Hands originally began as).

The Messenger smiled as if she could hear his thoughts.

“I leave his care in your hands,” she demurred instead of anything actually relevant or understandable, and bowed.

Anima scowled, “That isn't an answer!”

“Ani? Is there a problem?” Uncle Regis asked from the hallway.

By the time he looked back to where the woman had been, she was gone. He scowled. And then looked directly at his Uncle. “Nothing, Uncle Regis. The Messenger just dropped by to visit,” he grumped as he roughly sheathed his sword and whisked it into the Armiger.

There was a moment of silence as the King registered that before he came in fully and sat himself down. “You sound just like your father did the first time he met Gentiana,” he observed with poorly concealed humour, eyes glinting in the darkness as Ani shot him a filthy glower before huffing and throwing himself back into his seat.

“Sorry I woke you. Go back to bed, I'll keep quiet,” he promised, guilty because he knew better than to get so easily wound up.

Regis chuckled, “Why don't you tell me what she said that got you so wound up?” he asked curiously, “Messengers speak for the Gods, perhaps between the two of us we can find meaning in them.”

Ani pursed his lips before frowning at him, “What did she mean when she called Noct the King of Kings?” he demanded, and watched all the blood drain from his uncle's face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentiana came out of fucking NOWHERE. That entire damn scene is not supposed to happen but I literally cannot think of a reason why it wouldn't and it's.... (helpless gesture) it works. Annoyingly. 
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the radio silence lately. I got super sick over the Christmas period, visited family, got Bronchitis from the littlest of my cousins (what a wonderful Christmas present, thank you Ollie, you're lucky you're adorable you little shit), spent the last week and a half off work, got Persona 5, completed Persona 5, and then forced myself into writing this up for you.


	10. Chapter 9

Anima... didn't know what to think as he watched Noctis and Lunafreya meet for the first time.

His Noctis, the little brat that would wait until he was mid-nappy change to piss up his shirt with what _had_ to be calculated intent every damn time, who refused to eat his vegetables and said green food was unhealthy, and confided in him that he wanted to be a cat when he grew up – or a robot, both were cool, which was all a six year old boy cared about really. _That_ Noctis.... the Chosen King of Light? The King of Kings who would end the daemon scourge and bring peace.

_How._

He still got his right and his left mixed up, not to mention he was a lazy little shit sometimes (said with the utmost affection but, yeah, his littlest brother was a spoilt brat who required a whole lot more motivating than any of the others for even the simplest of tasks. Little shit was lucky he was cute).

He supposed everyone grew up eventually though, and he shouldn't judge the man his brother would become later by the brat he was right now. It was possible that Noctis could very well end the daemons, but again, _how?_ Was it a magic thing? Was there a primary source that once destroyed would force the scourge to burn itself out – the same way that Ebola did back on earth, killing too quickly for it to really spread very far before the advent of modern transportation. But surely they had reached a critical mass with the daemons by now, right? There were so many nests and hallows that they could self-perpetuate even without the source no matter what. They were a constantly replicating problem, a disease. Would Noctis develop a bioweapon that targeted daemons using their superior technology? Or would he develop a medicine? Would a _bioweapon_ work? Or some kind of... well, he was called the King of _Light_ , maybe he would reinvent the lightbulb?

He snorted quietly in amusement, too quietly to disturb the cute little royals as they chattered over Princess Lunafreya's scrapbook of pressed flowers. Ever the little gentleman, despite having no interest in flowers at all, Noctis responded to the princess's shy enthusiasm with equal cheer. It was cute. He wished he could break protocol and snap a picture, at least so Uncle Regis wouldn't miss this. But he didn't. He didn't want to embarrass Uncle Regis, Uncle Clarus, or his father by leaving their hosts with a bad opinion of their behaviour, or his discipline.

“Ani, can we go to Lunafreya's personal gardens?” his little Prince called eagerly, practically bouncing on her bed, his eyes lit up in a way that they hadn't since the incident. That alone made him reluctant to refuse.

“Is the garden visible from the manor?” he asked the little Princess who shook her head.

“No. It's just past that cliff there. I have a whole field just for me in that valley,” she explained happily.

Anima nodded slowly, “Alright, let me call his Majesty and inform him where we're going, and we can make a move,” he decided. He doubted Lunafreya's little field was wheelchair friendly, but what use was having your older brother be your Shield if you couldn't use him as cavalry now and again? The brat better not get used to it though, as soon as he was healed, Anima would _not_ be carrying him around everywhere. He stepped to one side of the room, ignoring the hushed conversation that broke out between the little royals as he called the King to inform them of their little jaunt outside, and asked if he could check with the Queen whether or not the field would be discreet enough for them to safely visit. She said it would be fine, but that she would send Ravus to join them anyway and he could see to it that they didn't stray anywhere that would put everyone at risk. Realising he was on speaker, he thanked the Oracle Queen and promised to keep an eye on everyone before asking when she wanted her daughter back. Amused, she only stipulated before dinner and then told him he should make a move before the children ran off on their own.

Biting back the urge to remind her that Noctis couldn't _walk_ right now, he hung up and smiled a little at the two eager faces. “Shall we?” he asked, watching as Lunafreya scrambled up off the bed, calling for her dogs even as she rushed to her closet in order to grab a shawl.

The trio quickly made their way to the field in question, passing through the servant's quarters and beneath a few outside walk-ways before walking into a small bridge carved _into_ the cliff-face that was mostly obscured by hanging vines and ivy. Stone planters at every pillar spilling flowers and tendrils of green like overflowing fountains as Lunafreya lead them through a short not so dark tunnel that _glowed_ with ghostly green mushrooms in yet more stone planters built into the rock walls.

He had to pick the wheelchair up once they came to the otherside in order to get Noctis down a short flight of stairs, but the garden itself was actually fairly level. Mostly a grass and wildflower field with thick loamy moss carpeting the earth, vivid peacock blue sylleblossoms filled the majority of the field, but he could see beds of the much rarer and more carefully cultivated red, white, pink, and yellow species over towards the broken arches of ancient stone.

“It's said that red sylleblossoms don't really exist,” Lunafreya explained as she danced through the flowers, leading them towards the arches. “That there were originally only white sylleblossoms until the first Oracle. She grew fields and fields of them, where-ever she walked, they would grow. When she died, they became dyed red with her blood, and the love of the Founder King, and the explosion of magic he used against her killer dyed the others blue,” she detailed as she picked a handful of white and blue blossoms, “The flower is our national one, but in recognition for our family's close friendship, our sisterhood under the Astrals, and our intertwined destinies, we cultivate the blossoms borne of the union between our lines. The flowers grown by the first, and the magic that turned them blue,” she continued as, under clever fingers, she wove the flowers together into a crown that she then proceeded to place upon Noctis' head.

Hm, that was quite the story. He had no idea there was such history behind sylleblossoms, or legends behind why there were so many different colours. “And the pink and yellow ones?” he asked curiously.

“The yellow ones were stained by the magic of the Oracles when we first used our magic to defend ourselves,” the thirteen year old girl explained, “Until then, we had been healers only. We did not know our magic could be used to drive back the darkness like that, but, Tenebrae is small and beautiful, and there are many dark places for the scourge to linger in. The people needed protecting. I... could not tell you about the pink. Some believe that the First Oracle's anger washed away in the passing of the years, that she came to forgive those that slew her, and so the blood red blossoms faded to pink. Others say that it was just a cross-pollination accident,” she added with a giggle.

Anima snorted, “That's more than likely,” he agreed as he turned, ears catching the faint sound of footsteps behind them, spotting Prince Ravus as he appeared through the cave leading into the field.

“Do... you think Auntie Antheia would like some?” Noctis asked curiously as he stared at the flowers around them.

“Of course she would,” the Shield agreed, she would love the _seeds_ more than anything so she could attempt to grow her own, but he didn't think it would be very polite to ask Lunafreya if she would be willing to part with some of the red sylleblossom seeds given the apparent history and rarity of them (red was Auntie Antheia's favourite colour afterall). “Maybe Lunafreya can teach you how to make a flower crown for her? I'm sure she would like that,” he suggested, catching the way the young lady's eyes lit up in excitement, and his little brother's expression as he turned away from her to stare at him was one of unadulterated betrayal. He arched an eyebrow at his Prince who grimaced a little before turning to the happily smiling Lunafreya and bowing his head formally.

“Please teach me, Princess,” he requested humbly.

“It would be my honour, Prince Noctis,” the blonde girl declared with a courtly curtsy before she looked in askance at Anima, the Shield released the wheelchair and stepped back to let the young lady wheel her new student closer to the red flowers, likely guessing by both of their glances to the scarlet blossoms that this was the one they were interested in.

“I hope I am not interrupting,” Prince Ravus finally spoke up, making Anima turn to the side a little so he could keep half an eye on the younger ones and another on the older boy.

“Not at all, your highness,” he demurred with a polite inclination of his head, hands behind his back at ease, head back and his shoulders squared.

The Prince nodded a little stiffly, taking a moment to bustle several steps forward, gaze sweeping the field, lingering on his sister as she coached Noctis on how to pick the sylleblossoms without damaging them, and how much stalk they needed for the kind of crown he wanted to make. “How are you finding Tenebrae?” he asked finishing his inspection of the field, hands moving restlessly to brush imaginary lint from his white clothing. “I imagine nothing in Insomnia compares to the gardens of Fenestala, it must be jarring.”

“Not at all, your Highness,” Anima assured him quickly, “We have several environments specifically cultivated on the outskirts of Insomnia for training purposes,” he explained. It would be useless to dispatch the Kingsglaive to areas in Cleigne when none of them had the faintest idea of how to fight properly in the jungles, to say nothing of skirmishes amidst the sands and scrub of Leide, some tactics of which could be used in the Ravatogh area if need be. Duscae however saw the majority of the combat recently according to Nyx and Crowe – Libertas complained bitterly about how they barely had a chance to scratch their arseholes while out there, there was no chance to stop by Lestallum and get a look at their famed Meteor shards, never mind get a peek at the Disc of Cauthess. Supposedly the Archean was still slumbering there. Nyx laughed about how it was a wonder he could sleep through all the fighting practically in his backgarden, which didn't make his friends laugh so much as worry about what suicidal combat plan he would come up with if the Astral did wake and decide to gatecrash.

The Prince's face twisted a little in what might have been the shadow of disgruntlement, but smoothed away too quickly for Anima to make much sense of it. “Hm, I suppose you cannot have seen enough of our home to comment truly, shackled to your duties as you are,” he contemplated aloud, casting another look at Noctis and making Anima swallow and force himself to relax barely a breath after he bristled automatically.

He didn't answer, merely humming as he considered his words, “I am sure I will have the pleasure of seeing more in the near future. And if not, then perhaps next time, Astrals willing,” he decided to say instead of any biting comment about the fact that he was _proud_ to be Noct's Shield, proud to be trusted with the life and wellbeing of his little brother and his uncle. They were more than just Royalty to him, he would protect them even if they weren't, but knowing how many lives relied on them just made it all the more important that he do his job right. It was a heavy responsibility, and an incredible honour, to be trusted so. But somehow he didn't think scolding the Prince of Tenebrae would be politically appropriate, and he was _trying_ to behave himself.

A smirk curled on the young man's lips, “Then perhaps I shall be your guide then as well.”

There was no way to answer that but to say: “If your duties allow it, it would be my honour,” he demurred with a careful bow of his upper-body. Not as low as to his own monarchs, but low enough to be respectful _without_ taking his eyes off their surroundings.

His face definitely soured at that, causing Ani to frown in slight confusion even as, in the distance, Noctis yelped in disgust and alarm while Lunafreya burst out laughing, only to squeal a split second later and jump to her feet even as Noct recoiled away from the flower beds, hands held aloft.

Anima snorted when he spotted the little brown fiend responsible escaping through the grass. “It's just a toad, Noctis,” he called when his brother looked his way anxiously. “A regular garden variety toad. The Gaiatoads we saw are the size of soccer balls when they hatch, you'd definitely know at first glance,” he explained, knowing immediately what had him so concerned. They had passed more than a few of the ambling amphibians on their way to Cape Caem, horrified and fascinated in equal amounts by the sheer size of them, and their utterly soulless gaze as they consumed their prey whole in one bite.

The little prince wrinkled his nose even as he continued to hold his hands away from himself as though they had personally wronged him, Lunafreya brushing her dress of grass strands next to him with poorly concealed amusement on her pretty little face. Anima refrained from laughing at him, but only because Ravus was there, he got the impression Lunafreya wouldn't think poorly of him for it, but the older teenager was another matter entirely.

Speaking of, the pale blond haired boy sniffed haughtily, “Truly a pampered brat of a princeling,” he muttered, almost scornfully, only just about loud enough for Anima to hear but too quietly for the little ones. But Lunafreya must have correctly assumed his muttering was uncomplimentary if the wounded look she threw his way was any indication. Her elder brother sniffed and ignored her, glancing at him from the corner of his eye to gage his reaction. Ani didn't say anything, but he decided then and there he didn't much like Prince Ravus, and that the blond's opinion was unlikely to be good no matter what he did, so it was probably a waste of time to try and be on his best behaviour. He would only speak when spoken to from now on, it would be easier that way.

Noctis looked at the expression on Lunafreya's face before glancing to the two of them. Whatever he saw had him looking down in his lap with that _look_ on his face. That same crestfallen quiet expression he would wear when his father couldn't spend time with him, and instead Noctis thought he had done something wrong and wasn't allowed to see him. It killed Anima _every_ damn time he saw it.

He opened his mouth before he was even aware of it, his words cutting and cold as he marched to his younger brother's side, “You would know,” he snapped before he turned away, pot-kettle much. Noct had the excuse of being eight and hidden from public eye, what did the sixteen year old son of the Oracle Queen trained to be his sister's chief advisor upon her ascension to the throne have as an excuse? He didn't look back at the spluttering blond as he summoned a pack of antibacterial wipes from the armiger. What? He had three little brothers and a little sister, and as a Crownsguard had been forced to clean his fair share of wounds and dirt from whatever misadventure he had found himself in over the day. He made a point of keeping such supplies in his car, and backpack. It made sense to keep a pack in the armiger. He nudged the eight year old as he knelt down and tugged a wipe from the pack. “Hands,” he ordered, and began to clean him up when he obediently presented them to him. “You descale and gut fish all the time kiddo, why freak out over toads?” he asked in equal parts teasing and curiosity.

Noct huffed, “Fish are different! They're _clean_. They're in water all the time. Toads live in mud and dirt. They're gross, and their skin is toxic, Ignis said so,” he declared with childish certainty.

The Shield hummed lazily as he considered that, idly incinerating the wetwipe and tucking the pack away back into the armiger. “Not all breeds of toad are toxic, there are several kinds of tree frog in the Cleigne area that secrete a poisonous mucus, but it won't do much more than irritate a human's skin. In truth, our skin is much more dangerous to a toad than it is to ours. The oils our skin produce can cause them a lot of pain,” he explained, “That's why both Ignis and I always tell you to leave the frogs at the fishing hole alone. Not because they're dangerous, but because touching them will hurt them. Understand?” he asked gently.

“Oh... yes, Ani, I understand,” he said with a firm nod.

Ani smirked and ruffled his hair before looking at Lunafreya with a smile, “Has he been a good student, Princess?”

She laughed, nodding, “Yes. He has been very attentive,” she told him proudly with a sweet smile that made Noct blush and look down at his knees, bashful.

“Now if only he were so attentive in his _actual_ lessons,” he lamented playfully, grinning wildly at the gasp of betrayal from his Prince and expertly dodging the flailing hand that aimed for his face to silence him, “Maybe I should tell his Majesty that all we need do is have a pretty young lady teach you, hm?”

“Ani!” the little Prince wailed, now using both hands to grab at his head and try to push him down and cover his mouth at the same time, face bright red as Lunafreya burst into peels of laughter, watching their antics.

“Noctis!” the elder of the pair returned in the same tone, grinning even as he quickly turned the tables and effortlessly caught the little brat in a headlock and messed his hair. He bowed his head to Lunafreya, “Please continue to educate my beloved little Prince, your Highness. Only the wisdom of the Oracles can save him from the brain rot of video games now,” he demurred formally while Noct puffed and flailed, straining against the arm around him without effect, even more red faced and now offended.

“You're only saying that because you _suck_ at them!” he snapped, sticking his cold little fingertips right into Anima's armpit.

Lunafreya was bent double, crying with laughter at this point, as Anima squawked and released Noct only to fall over when the little brat threw himself out of his chair to land on him. Ani had to be careful how he positioned himself and fought every reflex he physically had not to throw Noctis off him as horrible little fingers went for every ticklish spot the brat knew he had. And there was no way for him to fight back because of the wound on Noct's back – he wondered if the little shit knew about that. Still, Ani was bigger and stronger.

“Ah HAH!” he caught those nasty little fingers in one hand, and pinned the little bastard to his chest with the other, leaving him to kick his legs uselessly and menace his shins a little before a shadow fell across them.

Ravus frowned down at them, something complicated on his face, “Are _all_ Lucians so free with their Prince's person?” he asked in tones that tried to be disapproving, but ended up just being wary and a little scandalised instead.

Noct immediately scowled and puffed up, “Ani's my _brother!_ ” he snapped, and judging by the way the Tenebraean's eyes widened he had come to exactly the wrong conclusion that Anima feared he would if someone heard him calling Noctis his little brother. He snorted and dropped his head back on the grass, releasing Noct's hands to point at him.

“It is _not_ what you're thinking of,” he told the blond, before shifting Noctis and sitting up, smoothly getting a leg under him and climbing to his feet, Prince in arm. He set the little brat back in his chair and brushed himself off, picking one of the red sylleblossoms from his hair. “My father is Cor Leonis. His Majesty's Sworn Sword. I was born before the heir to the Amacitia Family, so it was decided that I would be Noct's Shield when he was born. Dad told me he would be my responsibility and I took that very seriously. So much so in fact, that I probably changed and fed Noctis about as often as his actual Nannies did when he was a baby,” he explained with a grin as the little Prince groaned, slumping in his chair with a wail of ' _Ani don't tell them that!_ '. “Explaining what a Shield was would be too difficult given his age, so it was just easier to call myself his older brother. I'm pretty much already considered the older brother to all the other Retainer Family children.”

Lunafreya bounced forward a step, and kindly readjusted the position of Noct's chair so he could be properly included in the conversation without craning his neck, “How many siblings do you have, Master Leonis?” she asked curiously.

“Just Ani, your Highness,” he told her with a small smile, “Neither my father nor myself are nobility.” Ravus shifted in surprise but kept his tongue, which was good, because if he said one bad thing about Anima's father, prince or not, he was _going_ to deck him. “Well, I'm the oldest, after me was Gladio of the Amacitia Line. He's Noct's other Shield. Then its Ignis of the Scientias – ”

“Oh!” Lunafreya gasped happily, clapping her hands together, “I know that family! They are of Tenebrae! I am so glad to hear they are doing well!” she exclaimed happily.

Ravus nodded with a smile of his own, “Indeed. Lady Scientia created quite a stir when she declared she was leaving, unable to stomach Imperial rule after the death of her husband. She was heavily pregnant at the time, and no one heard from her since. Mother will be glad to hear of her safety, and the health of her child.”

The two Insomnians ooh'ed in amazement, and Anima folded his arms disgruntledly, casting a look at Noct, “And Iggy says he's not important, lying little shit. Think he knows?” he asked his Prince.

Noct shook his head, “Definitely not. And don't tell him. He'll only get more uptight!”

“He's not uptight,” Ani scoffed dismissively. Noct was such a brat, still couldn't see past the end of his own nose to understand that for all it had been normalised around him, it wasn't right or fair to force a child only two years older to be basically his babysitter.

“What of this Ignis?” Ravus prompted thoughtfully, “What is his role in all.... this?” he asked.

Ani shrugged a shoulder, “He's slated to become Noct's Hand when he's older. But he's a genius so he's racing full throttle to that end faster than the tutors know what to do with him.” Ravus smirked, pleased that his former countryman was doing so well, or, if Ani was reading him right, doing better than the Insomnians around him. “After Iggy, Noct was born. We didn't expect anyone else, but then Aunty Antheia surprised us three years ago with baby Iris, the only girl, poor thing,” he added with a grin and a wink at Lunafreya.

“Why would you say that?” the Princess asked curiously.

“Little girl with four much older brothers, three of whom are combat trained, one of which is royalty?” he pointed out with a shark-like grin, “Anyone that wants to date her is gunna have to go through us. They're _fucked_.”

 

* * *

 

It had been four days since they came to Tenebrae, the Queen had finally managed to _delicately_ rearrange a few meetings in order to clear a space in her schedule at the end of the week in order to heal Noctis, in the meanwhile her children had been entertaining Noctis and Anima while Uncle Regis had been between discussions with the Holy Messenger, and the Oracle Queen herself.

Anima didn't quite know what to think about Ravus in all honesty. He adored Lunafreya, she was an absolute sweetheart and it was clear she would be a phenomenal Oracle in the future, she was already working hard at it. Queen Sylvia was absent and rushed off her feet, handling everything with grace and severity in equal measure, with a well hidden utterly wicked sense of humour behind her kindly smile. There was no sign of a father on the scene, and perhaps that was for the best, he didn't think he had ever heard of an Oracle Queen marrying. Oracles, certainly, but never into a different family. Their husbands always married into the family. And the Queen never married, despite having children, and their fathers were never recorded.

But Ravus.... one moment he seemed almost like Nyx but younger, playful and genuinely kind, but then he would seem to catch himself and become stiff and almost confrontational. He took great pleasure in any perceived superiority his country and people had over... just about anyone else. And wasted absolutely no opportunity to point such out, or brag about it. He hated to be corrected if his information was wrong, and would argue to the back teeth on several matters, vanishing into the libraries for hours on end to hunt down a dusty tome and then either return triumphant to rub victory in his face, or would never broach the subject again if defeated. He was tactless as well, often a hair off outright rude. But what few times the two had on their own, Lunafreya and Noctis occupied in their own activities, were almost pleasant. The blond was incredibly intelligent, and had many strong opinions on a variety of subjects, and he didn't think less of Anima for being fourteen, if anything he seemed to value the Shield's opinion all the more for his age and lack of noble birth, stating that it offered a different perspective and opinion that would be closer to that of the people they were to serve.

He only seemed to be at his worst when other people were around, as if he had something to prove, or some kind of... like he had to show off. And stupidly always chose the most obnoxious manner in which to do so.

For instance, one morning he said Anima was brave for taking up his position of Shield at such a young age, then barely four hours later in front of Uncle Regis and Noctis himself, he admitted to not having any faith in his ability to actually _protect_ Noctis! Hence why he was there so often! Anima had never been so insulted, nor hurt, before in his life.

Uncle Regis was quick to come to his defence, stating his complete faith in Anima's skills, pointing out that he had earned the highest combat rank amidst the Crownsguard, _and_ the first of his Bahamut Pins, of which there were only a few. There were only four people in the entirety of Insomnia who could boast four of those pins. Himself, his personal Shield Clarus, the head of the Kingsglaive Captain Drutaros, and Anima's father, Marshal of the Crownsguard, Cor Leonis. That he had earned such a pin at fourteen years of age was already deemed a feat for the history books, and they had absolutely no doubt he would obtain the four pins before his twentieth.

Anima had suggested a sparring match, so the Prince of Tenebrae could assess his skills personally in accordance with the values of his own country. One could not expect their two countries to have the same ranking systems, of course, they were continents apart.

Uncle Regis looked horrified over the Prince's shoulder, Noctis looked gleeful, and Ravus, stupidly, agreed with all too much enthusiasm.

Queen Sylvia, when she came to see to her son's injuries in the aftermath, laughed like a drain for a solid ten minutes and then told her eldest that he bloody deserved it for being such a rude little shite. She then fixed up his broken nose, dislocated arm, and bruised torso. Anima tried to feel bad, but he really didn't. He felt guilty for embarrassing Uncle Regis, but the man only put his face into his hands and complained about how he was most _definitely_ his father's son and damnit, he didn't think he would have to deal with Cor going through puberty _again_. He was too old for this shit. Ani could only awkwardly pat him on the shoulder and offer the incredibly unhelpful reminder that it would be good practice for when Noctis did so?

The look of horror he received had the Oracle Queen guffawing again. So... At least someone was having a good time?

To apologise for his poor choice of words, and any offence he had caused (apparently getting his ass beaten _into_ the floor of the training fields had enlightened the young Prince to the fact that he had considerably _upset_ his guest, go figure), Ravus managed to swing access to the royal library for Anima. The Insomnian greedily diving into the dusty texts much to Noct's disgust because, really, homework when they were on holiday? Anima ignored the little brat as he dug out the historical records and blazed through them, eager to understand the world from a fresh perspective. He learned an awful lot more about the Astrals and the other Messengers through the texts compared to everything he found in the Insomnian royal libraries. Several of the stories were the same event, but with vastly different views – and sometimes the story was entirely different. Harry wanted to think the Oracles had _edited_ their records, as almost all religious orders back on Earth were known to do, erasing bits and pieces they didn't like, making themselves look better – the whole thing of the Romans throwing Christians to the lions was just... Christian Martyr fanfiction. It never happened. But historians couldn't tell the difference at first and given the changing world they were eager to make themselves victims as if it excused their other behaviours. Harry wanted to think the same was happening here. But Anima.... wasn't so sure.

He actually got the feeling it was the other way around.

He took pictures of the texts. Ravus had been completely astonished to see his phone acting like a _camera_ , never mind the touch screen attached to it. Such a thing was completely unheard of in Tenebrae. It was only after gushing about the phone that he even asked what Anima was doing, learning that he had some concerns about records in Insomnia being falsified had him offering to get several others from research libraries in other locations for him to cross-reference, which was pretty cool.

“I must say, I am surprised that you have such a fervor for history. You honestly do not seem the type,” Ravus admitted as he flipped through the depictions of the battle at Vesper where the oracle of the time was struck down, and her trident taken up by the Lucian King of the era until her daughter was able to take up her duties. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and set the paper down.

Anima shrugged as he took another picture of the carefully unrolled scroll, “Originally I was looking for information about magic. All records state that magic originated from Bahamut, and he only gifted it to the lines of the Oracle and the Lucis Caelums. But I know that's false. Dad has a friend outside Insomnia with magic and her family had absolutely no ties to Bahamut. Then there's the legend of the Assassin's Order, supposedly patroned by Leviathan herself. Then there's a few very, very, old and rare records pre-Crown City in a university collection that talks about the fire mages of Succarpe, which, as I'm sure you know, is more intimately connected to Ifrit than Bahamut. I have some theories, but without access to more records than just what we have in the Crown City, it's unlikely I'll be able to prove or disprove them,” he explained animatedly with some annoyance, not looking up as he gestured with one hand, flipped pages, and took photographs with the other.

There was a long moment of silence that prompted him to look up and blink at the Prince as he stared at him from his seat, a strange look on his face, “....Yes? Did – I say something strange?” Ani asked warily. Ravus was a hard one to read, and he took offence so easily, he was never sure exactly how he had offended the boy at any given time when his face soured, but he did so often apparently.

The Prince slowly got to his feet, “Would you like to read about the Covenant of the Oracle?” he asked slowly, as if he weren't sure he should even be offering.

It took Ani a moment to understand what he meant, the Covenant of the Oracle, the day that Bahamut approached the first Oracle and not only charged her with her duty, but also bestowed upon her the magic of her line. Almost all at once Anima wanted to jump to his feet and say yes, a hundred times yes, but he was also wary and alarmed.

“Something so private. Are you sure you should show me, your Highness? I would not want to get you into trouble with your mother,” he admitted, eyebrows creasing with worry. Never mind the politics that probably surrounded those very records. Hell, Niflheim had likely _tortured_ members of the Nox Fleuret family in the past in order to access those records! Had they ever managed it? _Would_ they ever manage it? “I would love to see them, but not at the expense of you or your family's safety. I am sure the Empire have tried to – ”

That weird look was back on his face, the strange half smile that looked strangely twisted and uncomfortable on the sixteen year old's face. Soft, and slightly glassy eyed, but also uncomfortable and guilty.

“I think... if it is you, mother would not mind. We have always walked a careful line, there is always a chance this information could be stolen or lost or destroyed. It would set my mind at ease, at the very least, to know another has a copy of it somewhere. Should the worst come to happen,” he admitted at length before turning, “Come. They are... kept elsewhere.”

There was no way Anima could say no, and nor did he want to. If Ravus was willing to take the risk, and aware of what they were, then Ani would thank him and accept his generosity.

Then, of course, the Empire attacked the day Noctis was to be healed.

And Fenestala Manor went up in flames.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO BE CONTINUED IN THE NEXT EPISODE OF DRAGON BALL Z wait wa?
> 
> God this chapter was a pain. Ravus y u such a butt to rite? Ugh. Teenagers.
> 
> As a warning, I will be including a few spoilers for the new Episode Ardyn in a few of the later chapters, just the world building stuff. I didn't CONTINUE the scene where Ravus shows Ani the beginning of the Oracle line because of this and because I wanted to warn people before I threw things out there. Believe me, everything has been planned. And what did you think about the history of the sylleblossoms? It's totally bullshit but I thought it would be cool to subscribe a legend to how they got their hues and why the BLUE ones were specifically important to the Oracles given how their colour associations are typically white and gold to match their magic.
> 
> ((When you think about it, FFXV is the story of Red vs Blue gone to the extreme with poor Yellow in the middle going 'gaiz pls stahp fiting'.))
> 
> Oh, in case it isn't clear: Regis hasn't told Anima that ending the Scourge will kill Noctis. Anima knows Noct will do this in the future, but he is completely ignorant to the fact it will cost him his life. And no one is particularly keen to enlighten him to that fact - the fall out would be..... catastrophic to say the least.


	11. Chapter 10

Anima... wasn't happy to see the entire Tenebraean court waiting for them at the famed Pools of Ilfana as he followed Lunafreya and Noctis.

Their presence was to be a _secret_ , why were the Lords and Ladies of Tenebrae, along with the Queen's personal guard all present? Uncle Regis didn't look surprised as he immediately went to greet the queen, so Anima could only assume it was something that had been spoken of and agreed before hand, so held his tongue, eyes scanning the unfamiliar faces to land with slight relief on Ravus just behind his mother. It must have been a political thing, he couldn't claim to have a good head for such, but he had been raised on the outskirts of the courts, he knew enough. This was likely a signal to her people, discreet, meant to be gossiped of but never affirmed aloud, that she did not support or approve of Niflheim. That their overseers were as unwelcome as they had always been, and that her loyalties would lie with her Kingdom and their ages old ally, Lucis.

He sincerely hoped that she was confident in the loyalty of her court. Because he most certainly was not.

That was when the echo of magitek engines changed. No longer echoing off the stone and tree around them as they came and went without so much as a by-your leave, but _directly above them_. Three Niflheim dropships hovered above the sacred clearing at the back of Fenestala Manor, their hatches opening.

They had been betrayed.

“INCOMING!” he roared, spotting the troopers throwing themselves out from the ships even as he banished away the sword he had called to hand out of reflex. Three dropships. A single drop ship could carry as many as thirty to sixty troopers depending on how they were geared. Glaives and Crownsguard could handle that many, no problem, a single well trained team at that, Uncle Regis could probably handle it alone, but Anima could already feel the sucking edges of something _else_ in the air, something that sent pain up his fingertips whenever he reached for the armiger, as if he were running his fingers across needles instead of familiar crystalline glass.

Anti-magic tech.

They were bound to develop it eventually. And given the nature of the device, yes, there, the third ship above them with its glowing firefly abdomen. It wasn't disgorging any troops, only maintaining position as the other two poured tiny humanoid figures onto the ground below.

He grabbed Lunafreya by the hand, Noct's wheelchair in the other, and pushed, pulled, and dragged the two towards Uncle Regis, the man already on heel and racing back towards them, his expression panicked as Magitek poured out of the trees and opened fire.

He heard the queen scream her son's name, but couldn't see her as the troopers opened up with flame-throwers. Lunafreya screamed, hand over her mouth.

“The queen!” Ani shouted even as he dropped Lunafreya's hand to summon a shield – that didn't come. Horror burned a split second before he was jumping over Noct's chair and under Uncle's arm to ram himself bodily against the armoured figure coming up behind him – broadsword at the fore.

It was chaos. He didn't have a chance to identify who it was he had just staggered before a blow to his side tossed him away like a ragdoll. He crashed into several infantry and, ignoring the pain, tried to call Kikuichimonji to his hand – it wouldn't come, the anti-magic generator wouldn't _let_ him –

He tore the rifle out of one of the infantry's hands and turned it on his fellows even as he ran to where he could see his King in lock-blades with the armoured soldier that threw him aside. The armiger answered then, the Royal Arms bursting into life around the King and _launching_ the unknown soldier away. Uncle Regis snatched up Noctis from his chair, and grabbed Lunafreya's hand with his other hand, waiting barely a breath for Anima to reach him, still firing on the approaching infantry before they ran – sprinting away from the pools back towards the small dock where the ship would be waiting.

“PLEASE! HELP US, KING REGIS!” Ravus.

There was no hesitation, Noctis would be safer with Uncle Regis than him. The Ring of the Lucii would not be constrained by any anti-magic technology that Niflheim could develop. But the thought of leaving any member of Royalty alone, unprotected, in a situation like this went against every ounce of training since childhood, Ani turned on heel and bolted for the bloodied sixteen year old Prince, grabbing his arm even as he threw aside the _useless_ empty rifle.

“Get up! Get up now!” he roared, dragging him up by the arm ignoring the blood under his fingers, or the way the young Prince cried out, up and away from the smouldering grass. Eyes flickering to the burnt run through corpse of Queen Sylvia with a pang even as he dragged the larger boy in his wake, away from her, and after his fleeing King. Had that anti-magic field not been up, they could have very well prevented this, the Queen herself commanded great magic, she would have _survived_. To stay would be suicide.

Up ahead, Lunafreya pulled herself free of Uncle Regis, and suddenly found herself being yanked forward once again, Anima's hand bruising on her wrist.

“No! My brother – ” she cried, trying to dig her heels in, only to see Ravus staggering at her side, dragged along in the Shield's wake like a sparrow in a gale as he tore after his King too fast for them to get their feet under themselves.

They were too _slow_.

Anima grit his teeth and fell back, dragging the siblings together and Lunafreya's hand into Ravus', “Run! Do _not_ let them take her! Do not let them _kill your sister!_ ” he commanded, stress making him loud, commanding, as he snarled at the soft pampered Princeling.

He didn't wait for acknowledgement before he let them go, and turned.

The issue with the anti-magic fields was that they were small. It was why Niflheim did not deploy them more often. They were too expensive to make, too difficult to implement, and too large of a target.

He was no longer within that field.

And he no longer cared for playing nice.

He summoned the packet of copper rods into his hands and threw them up, lightning catching between his fingers.

Yeah, Dad told him to never use this again, but what he didn't know, Anima couldn't get into trouble for. And it wasn't like any of the Niflheim soldiers would _survive this_.

Harry only ever had the most basic of information on this, mostly gleaned from Dudley, some from Hermione and Collin (Collin who had been particularly vocal about asking why they couldn't just blast Voldemort away with one, only to have Hermione point out that they would need an actual _ship_ to use one). Anima had used magic and his own studies to explore it further, admittedly using coins which he realised during his combat training were _hideously_ inaccurate and more likely to hurt himself than anyone else.

But rods.... Angle them correctly, catch them in the current, and –

the world went white, and his ears screamed, ringing.

And then he hit the ground.

 

* * *

 

His face was on fire, his ears were ringing, he couldn't _feel_ his hands, and he considered that a blessing as consciousness slowly returned and he was left choking on what felt like three broken ribs. He gasped desperately on ashen air, coughing, and whimpering as it felt like someone had filled his lungs with petrol and lit a match.

It took a while, but eventually he stopped, and just breathed, shallow, and fast, through slightly parted lips even as he blinked hazily, painfully, at the grey-white sky above, at the drifting scraps of ash and scorched leaves that flew overhead.

That... was a dumb. Thing.

A really dumb – whatever – attack, yes. Effective. But dumb. His brain felt like soup. His body like one giant burning bruise.

Copper conducted electricity a lot _better_ than a coin of brass and other mixed metals. He squeezed his eyes shut in hazy recollection. A single coin of mixed brass stuck with a single hand of Thunder magic, versus, five copper rods conducted with both hands with a Thundara in each. He fucked up. He fucked up big.

How... long had he been here?

Had Uncle Regis managed to escape with the little ones?

It was that question that forced him to his feet, forced him to roll to his side, gasping desperately against the pain in his chest as he shuddered on the grass, and eventually pushed himself to his hands and knees. He stared down at his hands on the grass, they were scorched, blistered and angry red, leaking plasma, and blackened in places.

He couldn't feel them.

It was likely his nerves had been seared dead. That was bad. Hopefully the Lucian healers would be able to revive them. It would absolutely _suck_. He was going to have to learn how to write again, he realised inanely, already thinking to the rehabilitation he would need to do to get them back and functioning. Would he even be able to grip a sword like this? Did he have a choice?

Well, clearly not. If Uncle Regis had already left, _and he had better have_ , then Anima was going to have to make the return trip to Insomnia on foot, and he would need to fight for it. For food and for shelter.

He groaned as he called Kikuichimonji to his hand, the faithful blade bearing him loyally as he struggled to his feet. He felt like some manner of newborn calf as he got his feet under him, knees trembling and knocking as he stood akimbo, gripping his ribs as something moved strangely inside him, uncomfortably. Fuck. Did he have a floater?

Ugh, did it matter if he did as long as it didn't pierce a lung?

C'mon, his own voice commanded, not the Harry voice in the back of his head, your feet work fine, Leonis, one in front of the other. You've got shit to do and places to be, get moving soldier.

Right.

One foot in front of the other.

He turned around and froze.

Oh

that

There wasn't much left of the forest. The waterfalls that fed the Pools of Ilfana had been obliterated, the water boiled away, the giant trees that ringed the clearing torn up at the roots, the earth itself torn open and scorched, gargantuan roots still smouldering even now, who knows how long after. All that remained were fallen Magitek infantry, scorched corpses, and smouldering ashes.

It... was foolish, a vain hope, but there was always a chance. Humans were built sturdy, sturdier even, here in Eos compared to Earth. He tottered through the churned up earth, past the fallen infantry, the scattered weapons and burnt black corpses.

It was a fool's hope, but he still had to check.

The Phoenix down shimmered into his hand from the armiger as he slowly checked the clearing, every body gently turned over and inspected. Most had been torn apart by gun-fire, a number of them cut down by a large sword, likely the broadsword he saw in the strangely armoured man's hand. But he couldn't find any sign of the queen, even though... he was fairly certain... she had fallen right here...

He squinted at the dull white sky. It was impossible to tell the time of day when it was like this, at least in a country not his own. Tenebrae was far more temperate than Insomnia. Had she survived and returned to Fenestala? It was a possibility. He couldn't find a single sign of her here, and bodies don't just _vanish_.

It was a long, slow walk back to Fenestala Manor. It was unlikely he would find much there, but he had to make sure that Uncle Regis had actually managed to escape. If he were in charge of this event, he would have stationed men at the Manor in order to prevent anyone attempting to escape, especially if this were an assassination attempt on _both_ royal lines at the same time.

He didn't expect to find the Manor smouldering, and half ruined.

He stumbled to a stop in bewilderment, leaning against a column as he stared at the crowds of people bustling around the ruins, carrying injured people and various items out of the wreckage. He could see Niflheim infantry milling around, and there was a dropship in the distance making its way over. He... needed to know.

It hurt more than it should to reach into the armiger and call a different change of clothes, swapping out his Crownsguard uniform and its magically reinforced fibres for regular street clothes made of cotton. Sturdy washed out jeans he stole from his father, a t-shirt with a cartoon chocobo on it that Auntie Theia got him not too long ago, and his own leather coat to keep him warm against the steadily growing cold wind – it was probably going to start raining soon, he kept the boots.

Getting to the Manor was easy, or would have been had he been in good health, as it was, the path took some time and involved a couple of stairs he could have done without. No one noticed a kid in a brown coat with a sooty scorched face staggering into their midst, just another one of many as people tended to the injured staff of the Manor.

“Oh!” a female voice stopped him, suddenly there was a hand on his arm, gentle, and Miss Maria's face swam into view, “You – ” her eyes flicked at their surroundings before she gently drew him into a hug. Ani winced but returned it, “I'm so glad you are alright. Come, sweetheart, let's get you somewhere quieter. I know you hate crowds,” she bustled, just loudly enough that no one around them paid the two any mind as she quickly ushered him to a small out of the way section of the gardens.

He closed his eyes as she set to cleaning up his face, “His Majesty, Noctis, did they escape?” he asked hoarsely.

“They did. Princess Lunafreya and Prince Ravus with them. I am sorry, they could not wait for you. It has been some six hours since the incident,” the servant explained regretfully as she gathered up his blistered hands and sucked in a sharp breath. “I will get you some herb-water and wrap these.”

Anima nodded slowly, “Thank you, but I should be off. If I move quickly, I will be able to escape Tenebrae before they lock down the harbours.”

Maria gave him a steady look, “They will not do so, Master Leonis,” she told him softly, her voice mingled with disbelief and rage, “They have informed our countrymen that the incident was an accident, a simple fire that got out of hand when dissenters broke into the Manor. That both our royal highnesses are dead.”

He shook his head, “Why would they report such a thing when – no, surely once they reach Insomnia the whole of Lucis will know, it shan't take long for word to reach Tenebrae, a lie like that will not hold water?” he asked in disbelief, not understanding how they thought to keep something like that going.

Maria pursed her lips, “It – is my understanding that they hope to capture them before they reach Insomnia. And that the Princess will vanish into Niflheim's research labs. Who knows what they plan to do with Prince Ravus.”

He scowled, remaining silent as she waited a moment and then picked herself up to go in search of the promised herb water. His phone had been in his pocket, and it was a little difficult to call it out of them in the armiger and into his hand, but, well, he guessed magical sensitivity had its upsides? Still, the phone was trashed beyond use. The screen shattered, the plastic melted and warped. Completely unusable. He took a breath and leaned back against the railing as he stared over at the still smouldering Manor, he looked at the people, the servants, the guards, the people who had been injured in this stupid, pointless, wretched attack and grit his teeth.

He shoved himself to his feet and marched into the thick of them. Potions were handed out discreetly, Elixers to the worst of them, hi-potions to those wounded but not in great danger, he gathered people close to him and mixed up Healcast ice spells in the few magic flasks that were rescued from the fire. It drew attention, but he was able to slip away in the chaos, a burnt fourteen year old wasn't going to draw the attention of the Niflheim military when they would be looking to the queen's guard if anyone was using elemancy.

And whatever he walked, he whispered in the people's ears that their Prince and Princess lived, that they fled towards Lucis. They lived. Do not lose hope. The line of the Oracle remains. Stay strong. They will return, someday.

By the time Maria tracked him down, he had burnt through the last of his elemancy, and the last of the rescued magic flasks one of the dock hands had liberated for him. She sighed but didn't scold him, her expression torn between exasperated, guilt, and gratitude as she got him sat down and began to spread the herbal wash over his hands. She worked quickly and efficiently, before patting them dry, applying ointment, and then wrapping them up tightly.

“I will not tell you to go carefully. I know you will not,” she said solemnly, patting his hands, “You Lucians never do when you take it into your head to fight. It must be the Will of Bahamut whispering in your ears. Light be with you, lad. Do not return to the embrace of the Tidemother just yet,” she told him softly before getting to her feet, “I never saw you. You were not here. And neither was the King.”

And then she walked away, corralling several of the other servant girls to work.

Anima flexed his fingers and nodded to himself. They would hold up until he got home.

But now... now he had to give Niflheim something else to focus on than trying to capture his King.

 

* * *

 

Without the ship, he was forced to take the train. Sneaking aboard under the noses of the imperials was child's play using magic, he shredded the light around him, bent it, the refracting crystals hiding him from view. It wasn't perfect, not like the Invisibility Cloak of Earth, but it was good enough that no one saw him as he made his suicidal leap onto the baggage cart.

He almost fell, his ribs protesting the action so ferociously that his vision blacked out for a moment, his whole body going weak. If he fell, he would die, so he didn't. He tightened his grip, he rode it out, and once he got his breath back, he crawled to a more secure location, and carefully worked the hatch of the cart open before sliding in. Not a moment too soon as well, a tunnel was coming up, and they were _always_ full of daemons, even this close to the Oracle's kingdom. Perhaps especially, given how they were travelling into the Ulwaat region now – ancient nesting site of the daemons of yesteryear.

He delicately welded the ceiling hatch shut before he left the baggage hold, he didn't know how _intelligent_ the daemons of Ulwaat were, but there were undoubtedly truly _ancient_ beings there – and a daemon could learn. Whether they had seen him open the hatch from the tunnel up ahead, he didn't know, but he didn't want to take the risk and put the innocent passengers onboard at risk by leaving any potential opening to be exploited.

The tunnel was long, and dark, and he could hear the sound of the daemons scraping along the metal armour of the train as it powered through, occasionally jarring as it ran one down and crushed it beneath tons of iron and metal and power.

It was somewhat ironic to think that if everything went off without a hitch, and if he didn't stop, that he would likely reach the Crown City before Uncle Regis.

Good thing he had absolutely no intention of doing so.

Seeing Ulwaat's distant Solheim ruins as they passed through Pagla was fascinating. Were the world not at war he would have loved to spend time studying them, there must have been all sorts of information and daemons hidden within them. Not only that, but there was a crater where one of the minor gods was killed, he could distantly see the crescent of raised rock and feel it buzz along his arms even here, the shudder of an ancient life lost. But there were no stops in this area, it was too daemon infested and with no havens known on the maps there was too much risk and not enough reward for a stop to be put in just for tourism. Maybe when Noctis rid the world of the daemons he could suggest a camping trip with his father? He wasn't a history buff, but he would probably find it interesting none the less. He had become interested in the Astral war and Solheim simply through exposure to his son.

Piztala though.

Anima knew they would be passing the imperial town, it was unmarked on the map, but aerial images were impossible to mistake. It was only a tiny ammo depot according to what information they had been able to gather via spying, his father had even mentioned it before, apparently he had sabotaged it in the past not long after Noct was born while he was on a black-ops mission in the area.

It was likely terrible of him, given how there were probably civilian contractors working there, regular people trying to do their jobs, provide for their families, but – but... they threatened his home and family.

He summoned his secret demolition kit from the armiger. His dad didn't know about it, and neither did Dustin, but _Monica_ was firmly of the opinion that there was no problem that couldn't be resolved without judicious application of plastic explosives. And if it didn't work, well, you just needed more explosives. She joked, of course, but it was a sentiment that he could appreciate as a fourteen year old boy with a love of things that went _bang_ in big fiery displays. So he listened _very_ appreciatively as she taught him how to make things that went bang.

His phone was fucked, so it would be no loss. He took his SIM card out, and hooked it up to the large mass, the screen was fucked but it wasn't too difficult to get it to perform vocal recognition. He opened the count-down option on his clock app, and set it for twenty minutes.

As they approached, he dragged the window open, and waited for the best moment before launching it into one of the pallets next to the rail-line. None of the staff noticed. Everyone manning the depot was an MT.

He yanked the window up and went to find a place to hide. As soon as that went off, the troopers on the train would be checking _everyone_ for possible Lucian spies. Best not let them catch him travelling without papers or passport.

 

* * *

 

Fordina Castro went much the same way, he sabotaged as much of their mining equipment as possible in the short day's respite they had on site, sneaking down to the depths of the quarry and quickly _leaving_ when he found a nest of malboros he had no intention of tangling with. Not in his current state. But still. He got valuable information from the excursion none the less.

Niflheim hadn't found the Royal Tomb hidden there yet.

Anima wasn't a hundred percent sure it _was_ at the bottom of the Quarry in all honesty, his father told him there was a tomb in Succarpe, and he could feel _something_ familiar to the armiger lingering in the air that grew stronger, like a scent, or a flavour in the back of his mouth, but he wasn't willing to chase it all the way through a nesting malboro's territory. So he left it be, made a mental note, and blew a few things up on his way out to stir the local daemons and fiends up before breaking back onto the train that would take him to the dock back to Lucis.

He wasn't caught at the ferry port, no, but it was close. He managed to pay a man with a nice little fishing boat to get him to Lucis, or rather, take him fishing near Lucis. He paid up front, babbled on about all the good fish he'd heard about there, he wanted to see the legendary Bismark obviously! And apparently there was the Jade Pink Gar somewhere out there, if he could only just _see_ it – you didn't get much fishing in Tenebrae, you see.

He directed the man towards Ravatogh, loudly explaining that he had studied it, that the warmer waters attracted rarer and more tropical fish in larger amounts because it promoted algae growth – the increase of fish would attract other waterborne predators and wasn't the Bismark supposed to be huge? It would need to eat other fish to support such prodigious bulk, don't you think?(Thank you Noctis, you absolute fishing nerd.)

He waited until one of the typical storms of the region blew in, and then 'fell' overboard and was 'lost'.

In truth, he swam the rest of the way to shore, dragging himself up onto the warm volcanic black sand in the dead of night, thankful for the fact that daemons rarely risked coming onto the shoreline – they hated water, it didn't agree with them, which made places like Accordo very attractive to the common man and woman. There were no daemons in Accordo. It was one of their biggest tourist draws, that peace of mind to relax without worrying that what goes bump in the night is more than a couple on their honeymoon making the beast with two backs next door.

He stayed at the beach until dawn, and then picked himself up and began the long walk to the nearest road, and it was a _long_ walk. He had missed his mark of Cape Shawe, jumping a little ahead of himself and ending up on the _other_ side of the small mountain range between them. It was a rough walk, but peaceful, there were definitely fiends, but with the thick undergrowth they weren't too interested in him if he moved quickly, kept to a jog, and gave them their space.

He crawled out near Malmalam Thicket, and jogged down the winding path to the river with relief. He wasn't quite on the home-stretch, but he was close.

There was a Niflheim military base just north up the road from there.

Fort Vaullerey.

The biggest Niflheim base in Lucis.

He slept the night away at the haven next to the carpark, eating a couple of the fish and roasted vegetables he gathered on his way there over the campfire, and refilled an old waterbottle at the river. He gathered his strength and considered how he was going to approach the base. He needed to make a big enough ruckus to distract them from any chase of Uncle Regis and the little ones, so, that meant explosions. Lots of them. Sabotage too.

They had literally airdropped the base into existence two decades ago within the space of two months, using MTs to set up the prefab facilities day and night. When the Wall got scaled back it was scarcely days before more bases were being dropped into Lucis.

He chewed slowly on his roasted pepper.

Maybe he should do something about that?

That morning, he rolled over Fort Vaullerey. He summoned up his Crownsguard uniform, figuring he would need the extra armour, and used Glaive invisibility to sneak in. He warped onto each of their ammo stores and affixed explosives to them – he stole more explosives and charges and equipment too – and then he warped out of the base entirely, and set them all off. He figured he could be forgiven the nasty little giggle he gave when all the sirens went off and the whole place went up in fire, smoke, and explosions.

He warped his ass over the river, and out of sight before anyone could notice him and ran into the tree line. He had to hike up to the main road to get across the tail end of Taelpar Crag, but that was a small sacrifice – and it took him almost directly to target number two: Perpetouss Keep.

This base... was not as easy.

Some Niff bigwig was there, studying something or other. So when Ani started setting off alarms, and exploding things, the backlash was almost instant – and _vicious_.

Three of Niflheim's MA Veles mechs came at him before he could get clear and out of sight.

He got _shredded_.

It was sheer luck that he managed to give them the slip in the woods as night fell. But that had hazards of its own, and a fucking _Tonberry Knight_ almost took his head off just as he was passing the Tomb of the Just before he was able to scramble to the safety of a haven and catch his breath, and _bleed_ across the stones.

His chest was on _fire_.

No more detours. He needed to get to Insomnia. He'd made enough noise to distract Niflheim from trying to pursue Uncle Regis – hell, attacking Perpetouss had caused all local patrols to form up and immediately go to offer relief and resupply to the base, _and_ the chaos he sew at Vaullerey had diverted more forces away as well. He had tied them all up in the same day. If it didn't hurt so much, he'd laugh.

Now he just had to get home. Across Duscae, Leide, and up to Cavaugh.

He shouldn't have slept that night, but he didn't really have a choice. He passed out and slept hard well into the afternoon of the following day, and woke with a groan as he rubbed dried blood from his cheek. And forced his aching body up.

He forced himself to get moving.

He walked, unable to go at a run with his leg sending white hot waves of agony up his body with any weight he put onto it as he moved. He passed Costlemark with a dull appreciative stare, were he in better shape – he would have gone in, if only just to _look_. It was the oldest standing Solheim structure this close to Lucis, supposedly it was still operational even, whatever that meant. Rumour had it that you could only go in after dark, and that it would glow with the light of the sun it absorbed during the day.

Eventually, he moved off the road, the sound of magitek engines overhead making him nervous. So he moved into the tree cover, and followed a deer path that ran through Kettier Highlands. He passed a fishing shack and its concerned owner who tried to cajole him into sitting tight and letting him call a local hunter, he didn't wait, too nervous of anyone trying to take him further away from Insomnia.

Night began to fall, and he couldn't risk going any further when he stumbled on the second fishing spot. Just a jetty leading into the water. But it was safe, and that was what mattered.

He curled up and slept the night away, waking with the dawn, and making his way once again – he made better time that day, managing to get as far as the haven south of the Three Valleys in Leide as night began to fall.

He didn't feel good though. His stomach and chest had gone an alarmingly dark colour, it was hot and hard to the touch, and moving too much was agony.

He knew at a glance it was internal bleeding, it may have started as something that wasn't too bad, but after several days without tending, it was getting worse, and he was finding it harder to breathe. Eating hurt too, not his mouth, his stomach. Any pressure or movement caused him searing agony. But if he stopped, he would die. He knew that, somewhere in his little lizard brain he acknowledged that stopping was death, so he had to keep going, and when he had to wait out the night, it was best to position himself carefully, and nap.

It was luck that a chap leaving Hammerhead saw him as he was staggering past and practically dragged him inside, saying that he would take him to Insomnia, Six damnit what the hell happened to you kid?!

He laughed, and ended up coughing blood onto his chest, “Picking fights with Imperials. Really gotta stop doing that,” he muttered breathlessly, the guy driving him giving him deeply unsettled looks of concern as he pushed the accelerator down that little bit more. Turned out he was a delivery driver and had no problem getting them through the blockades, or border control. No one even asked about him, the guy stating that Anima was his nephew, learning the route and the ropes for later.

It was when they reached the wall and they were forced to get out so the truck could be inspected.

“I'm going to need to see a passport for the kid,” the Crownsguard was saying dully, only he kept glancing to the large TV monitor in the office behind him, making Anima curious as he stumbled forward, and froze.

That – was his dad. On TV.

 _His father was crying_.

Who. The _fuck. Did he have to kill for_ _ **this?**_

 

* * *

 

He didn't know how he got there. It was a blur.

There was... a lot of shouting. But... that didn't matter.

His dad was crying.

His brothers were crying.

He had to go to them. He _had to_. That was – that was what he was supposed to do! It was his job! His purpose! He had to – be there, protect them, _stop_ that, stop _them_ from crying, they weren't supposed to. He wasn't – it was his job to stop things that would make them cry. That was what he was raised for. What he was trained for.

He was vaguely aware of warping over the wall of the royal garden, he staggered and fell, coughing blood, thick and sticky on his tongue and spat it into the grass even as he pushed himself to his feet, the world swaying black and white and bright and distant and slow all at once in front of his eyes.

There were people up ahead. He could see.... flowers. Sylleblossoms. Smudges of white and gold amidst a sea of black. A towering black figure with a head of white – Uncle Clarus. He coughed, and a pair of hands caught his shoulders, a voice swimming in his ears, he grit his teeth and shoved them aside –

Uncle Clarus was over there, that meant his dad was too.

Clarus – like Uncle Regis – would have never left his side if he were upset. They were brothers. His dad was _crying_ , they wouldn't leave him. That meant his dad was over there.

The sea of black roiled, voices started shouting all around him, more hands tried to grab at him but –

there

His dad.

He stumbled, and a moment later he was there, his dad was there, kneeling in front of him, hands touching his face and shoulders as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing, everything sounded like it was underwater and far away and he couldn't _breathe_

but he was there

he was crying though

Ani dropped to his knees, practically falling onto his father as he clumsily tried to wipe them away, they shouldn't be there, his dad – he didn't cry. He had _never_ cried. No one made him cry. No one. He croaked something, he didn't know, dirty hands on his dad's cheeks

and then something hit his side, and everything went black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAM. 
> 
> Bit of a long chapter but I kinda got into a groove and I couldn't find a good place to stop. Well okay that's a lie, I just wanted to get this whole segment out of the way in one fell swoop.
> 
> 1/ Maria is a canon character, she's the servant woman that tries to help Lunafreya escape at the start of Kingsglaive, and who you later meet as Noctis in Tenebrae.  
> 2/ There is no location in Tenebrae called the 'Pools of Ilfana', however, given how FFXV is fond of using names from previous games for things (Hunter tags bearing the names of locations in prior games), I figured using the names of female characters with associated powers worked.


	12. Chapter 11

From the first, Cor Leonis' life had been service to the Crown. It had been both his purpose, his pride, and his solace.

He had thought, as a child, that the worst day of his life was as he stood to attention, dressed head to foot in black, on an overcast day, a tiny figure amidst many, at the mourning service for His Royal Majesty King Mors Lucis Caelum. His King whom he had failed to protect, failed in his service to, in the ever escalating conflict with the Empire. As he grew, he came to understand that he was wrong, that there were worse ways to feel, and greater shames to experience. He could say with certainty, that the day he returned, beaten, shamed, weaponless, to Regis' side having _stupidly_ thought to challenge the Blademaster in his own stubborn pride and vanity, as though he were worthy of the position of Shield, as though it were something he could _steal_ through martial skill from Clarus' rightful hands. He had thought the long night after that day, the bitter silent, _shamefilled_ tears he shed, would be the most miserable, the lowest, and most wretched he would ever feel.

He – did not think – he could feel _anything_ as he stared uncomprehendingly at his King, his brother, at his dirty bloodied face, his swollen red eyes, and the clear evidence of wretched tears and grief written on his ageing face.

“I did not see it,” his King rasped, kneeling in front of him as he sat numbly in the sitting room he had burst into only moments before, scarce moments from his office having heard of his King's return, forced to sit by his King, his brother, his bestfriend before he would tell him _anything_ of where his son was. “He stayed behind, to buy us time. Cor – something of that magnitude... I am sorry. I am _so, so sorry..._ ”

His son... wasn't coming home.

 

* * *

__

He went back to work.

He read reports, remembering nothing of them, he drank cold coffee, answered his colleagues mechanically, ignored e-mails, his phone vibrating across the desk as he stared at his screen and saw _nothing_.

No one tried to stop Clarus Amicitia when he stormed into the Crownsguard HQ and physically hauled their unprotesting Marshal out, and into his personal car. By then, word had spread through the entirety of the royal service corps: Anima Leonis was MIA, presumed dead.

The children... did not take the news well, having heard from many, varied and unknown sources of what happened. All of them were old enough to understand death and loss save for little Iris who was so sensitive to the moods of those around her it didn't matter if she knew or not, the grief of the people around her, and the absence of one of her favourite brothers, was enough to bring her to heartbreak. Noctis blamed himself and had shut himself in his room, refusing to even come out for his father. Ignis was inconsolable, and Gladio not much better. The eldest of the Amicitia children bore up as best he could, barely eleven, he tried to be strong, but he was still a child and the loss of his elder brother cut him deeply.

Clarus dragged Cor to the Amicitia estate, forcing him into a guestroom with a command not to do anything reckless – “At least wait until after the funeral!” the man ordered, his expression stern and frightened.

Cor didn't try to do anything. There was nothing _to_ do.

He couldn't – he couldn't even look at _Regis_.

He didn't blame him, no, he couldn't, _shouldn't_. His son had been raised as a Shield, to protect the Royal family, and he had done so. Selflessly giving his life to buy time for Regis to evacuate with Noctis and the Tenebraean heirs – saving not just one royal line, but two, with his actions. Anima wouldn't have hesitated even for a heartbeat, wouldn't have heard of saving himself, wouldn't have listened to a single word of caution or restraint. And neither would Cor, either back then at the same age or now. It was their duty, and they were proud to do so. Honoured.

But it was hard to marry those pretty words and noble actions with their ugly consequences.

His son was not coming home.

Regis and Clarus handled the necessary arrangements for the funeral. Demeter and Prometheus took care of the children and the displaced Tenebraean Royals, and Cor noticed none of it as he sat in the Amicitia's guestroom in silence.

It wouldn't stop circling his brain, demanding his attention, digging into his every waking thought, and making his breath shudder.

Had it been quick? Like Regis assumed? Snuffed out in a roar of light and power, gone before he even knew what had happened, what he had done? Or... had it been slow? Had his baby survived but been too hurt to follow his King, too injured to get up, to escape? Left to bleed out, alone, _frightened_ , on the battlefield until everything went cold and dark and far away, or until Niflheim came across him, and put a bullet into his tiny body? Had they taken him, and tried to tear Lucian secrets out of his son, only to realise it was pointless, fruitless, because his son would spit in the very eye of the Infernian before betraying his family?

He hoped, distantly, hazily.... it had been the first.

The morning of the funeral, Antheia showed up in his room with a backpack and a map.

“When we've seen him off, we'll go,” she declared loudly, too loudly in the tomb like silence of the darkened guestroom. He could barely muster the energy to raise his head, and yet when he did, he couldn't help but realise she wore her old Royal Guard uniform, the uniform of what the Kingsglaive _used_ to be. The same uniform she hung up when she married Clarus in order to raise a family. At her back, she had her claymore belted in place, and her long hair was pulled back into Cavaugh warrior braids.

She nodded as his gaze sharpened on her, “Clarus cannot go, neither Demeter or Prometheus have the combat training, and Drautos has his own duties. Dustin can handle the paperwork for the Crownsguard and Clarus can coordinate the active missions.

“We will make them _pay_ for this, Cor, I swear on Bahamut's bladed wings, they won't get away with it.”

He wasn't sure he understood her as he was ushered out of the guestroom and into a car with the rest of the family, everyone in their mourning blacks, Iris silent for once, Gladio with his young face downturned and his lower lip trembling as he swallowed back his tears. He stared out of the window at the passing word, at the beautiful blue sky.

It was exactly the kind of day that Anima loved most. Warm and sunny, but with enough of a cool breeze to take the sting of the sun away and rustle the leaves of the trees overhead.

Regis had arranged for the service to occur in one of the royal gardens, the very one that they took Anima to as a toddler when he was still figuring out his feet – and then promptly lost him for twenty heartstopping minutes when the little rascal ran off out of sight, chasing a pigeon. They pulled to a stop at the gates where both Crownsguard and Kingsglaive stood to attention, holding back crowds of curious people, casual mourners, and aggressive protestors with boards and signs he didn't have the care to read as he climbed out and was pulled along into the park, Clarus' arm over his shoulders.

There were camera crews not too far away from the pond where the service was to be conducted, he noted distantly, a typical concession in order to prevent paparazzi from interrupting the ceremony. He was grateful, probably, even as something ugly and hot twisted in his gut to have his baby's last rites to be treated as an _entertainment piece_.

His breath shook as Clarus and Regis gathered around him, leading him to the cluster of chairs on the small stretch of grass in the decorative gardens leading to the pond's edge. Seats enough for the Royal retinue, the children, the senior Crownsguard that Anima worked with every day, places for his friends from the Glaives – their seats already filled with young faces, tear blotched and twisted with familiar grief – and even the citadel staff that his son had been fond of, cleaners, kitchen staff, the librarians were all present. Even a few professors from the Crown City university, Cor remembered his son gushing over dinner about thesis papers and historical research that he had emailed about and how enthusiastic the scholars had been in sharing their knowledge of pre-Insomnian Lucis and Solheim. They must be the professors he had been in contact with.

Flowers and lanterns were set out, offerings to Leviathan laid on the muddy water's edge, but it was the picture. It was the _picture_ , framed neatly in black, placed on a small stand at the edge of the water, several candles lit below, his son in his Crownsguard uniform, pulling a silly face at the camera. All smiles, his tongue out, his blue eyes crossed, the top of Iris' head in the bottom corner, her pudgy waving hand on his chin.

He didn't know when it had been taken. All of Anima's pictures had been like that, captured in the moment, a cheeky face, full of life and laughter, cuddled up to someone precious, or up to some kind of mischief.

Ani would never smile like that again.

It hit then, everything and all at once. Stealing the breath from his lungs and the strength from his legs. Regis had to shore him up, practically carry him to his chair. It felt like he had been clipped around the head, his ears were ringing, and he felt _sick_ , his son, his _son –_

He couldn't even hear the service, he choked on his own lungs, on his running nose and burning eyes and the tears that wouldn't stop pouring down his cheeks as the priest announced his son's passing, and spoke of both his character and accomplishments as if everything that his son was could be summed up in _words_. The friends he had made, the families he had brought together, the lives he saved, and finally, the tragedy of his passing – his noble service to the Light of their Star, the Gods themselves, the people, and the Crown. And now into the service of the Great Tidemother, may she lay him to rest within her deep waters –

“Someone get a medic!”

“Marshal!”

“Your Majesty!”

“Fetch the Princess!”

“Anima?” Antheia's voice breathed, cutting through the sudden clamour as she jumped to her feet beside him and jerked Cor into the _here_ , the _now_.

He shot up, turning, heart in his throat, his eyes half blind with tears but –

his son

Ani staggered across the grass, pushing himself away from the alarmed Crownsguard that didn't seem to know if he was supposed to restrain him or help him; he was filthy, blood encrusted, his face and clothing burnt, dark hair matted down with drying blood and mud, his hands wrapped in filthy burnt bandages, and fresh blood dripped down his chin. But those eyes, those eyes were unmistakable, they were red rimmed, sunken into his face with exhaustion and pain, but he would know them anywhere.

He wavered, stumbling, and Cor bolted, practically shoving himself through the startled crowds to get to his son.

He was _real_ , he was _alive_ , and Cor couldn't stop touching him. His baby boy, his son.

Blue eyes focused on his face and filthy bandaged hands bumped into his cheeks, fingers threatening to take his eye out even as his son's legs gave out under him. He was shaking, they both were.

“Don't cry,” his baby rasped, clumsily trying to wipe his cheeks, “Don't cry, dad, please don't. Who was it? I'll kill them, just, don't, please don't cry,” he begged, only to cough and spit up blood and terrify him down to the very core of his bones.

“Anima!” He didn't recognise his own voice as he reached up to catch his son as he listed sideways, but the _second_ he pressed a too quick, too roughly moved hand to his side, the fourteen year old gasped, his eyes practically bugging out a heartbeat before he crumpled, like a puppet with its strings cut, passing out instantly.

Chaos erupted around them, or had it always been like that and he hadn't noticed?

“WHERE IS THAT MEDIC?!” Antheia's voice roared across the garden, reaching her old sergeant levels even as her husband held both children tightly to one side, preventing them from getting in the way as his wife directed Crownsguard and Glaives without consideration for the delicate political lines between the two, Prince Ravus shoving himself and his sister to the fore of the congregation the thirteen year old girl rushing over, throwing aside the sylleblossom flowers she had been holding onto in offering.

“Please! Let me help, even just a little!” the girl begged as she skidded down to his side, heedless to the grass stains she ground into her white dress, as her hands erupted into golden light.

He couldn't have refused her even if he had the voice to.

 

* * *

 

_beep – beep – beep – beep – beep – beep – beep – beep – beep – beep – beep –_

Heart rate steady. No sign of waking.

Cor rubbed his face as he sat at his son's bedside, legs and back aching from the unfamiliar _days_ spent without walking, running, or fighting. Just... sitting, and waiting. First for the funeral, and now for his son's recovery.

Anima had been placed into a medical coma, hooked up to a ventilator and all manner of tubes, wires, and sensors to monitor him, keep him sedated and out of pain, to keep his lungs pumping – but in a way that wouldn't aggravate his wounds, his broken ribs, and the stitches that littered his tiny body. A nurse had washed the blood from his hair, and the surgery technicians had been forced to shave the left side of his skull, revealing a bone-deep gash that needed twelve stitches to close. A headwound that Lunafreya didn't dare risk using magic on for fear of doing something irreparable to his mind – his own magical sensitivity and her fledgeling skill at healing a dangerous combination for a headwound.

Had it only been a month since Noctis himself had been in this very bed? His fourteen year old son laid prone within the heart of the royal Bahamut Ward he had once been a guard of, his face pale with blood loss, bruises stark and living on his young face, half hidden behind his facemask, his eyes sunken in and dark. His whole body was supported into position via pillows, his arms wrapped and padded at either side of him, his mangled leg suspended to prevent swelling and in a potion filled medical 'bootie' so the enchanted fluid could work directly on his shredded calf.

Cor hadn't left the room since his son was wheeled out of surgery and into it. He was still in his funeral garb, never having gotten into the habit like Regis of storing his clothing within the armiger, but he couldn't bring himself to go anywhere, not when he had spent a week believing his baby was dead and his heart gone with him. It had been, a quick check of his phone confirming it, four days since the funeral. Three days and eighteen hours since he got out of back-to-back surgeries to deal with the plethora of injuries he had suffered, both physical and magical, Glaive specialists had needed to be called in to aid with the latter. And Cor had not left his side save to use the facilities attached to the room with the provision that Regis, Clarus, or Antheia were present until he returned. He didn't want his son to wake alone without a familiar face to assure him that he would be back shortly.

“Well,” a voice declared as the door opened, “your son certainly takes after you, Immortal,” Titus complained as he marched in, closing the door behind him as he did so. Were it anyone else, he might have punched them for that, bit Titus was the only asshole he worked with who didn't hold with the title, and told him to his face that his shit still stunk of shit, not roses, and not dying was hardly something to celebrate, people didn't die every damn day and they didn't get fancy titles for it. “I would call it cliché to crash your own funeral, but given what the border patrol tell me, I don't think he was even aware it _was_ his own funeral.”

The marshal huffed against his will, smiling a little as he rubbed his face, wanting more than anything to hold his son's hand, but unable to because of the lightning burns that flowered from fingertip to bicep, wrapped up in thick herbal smelling bandages, propped up on pillows on either side. “He's going to be so embarrassed when he wakes up,” he admitted with a shaky smile, already conjuring images of the look of outright mortification on his son's face when he hears about it. Because there was no other option, no other result, that he would accept. His son was _going_ to wake up, even if he had to go to Altissia himself and kick Leviathan in the fucking eye himself and tell her to stay fuck the hell away from his son.

“Not as much as when he finds out that Niflheim have firmly marked his threat-level in the same bracket as yours,” the Captain declared, tossing the files he had under his arm onto the wheely desk that had been sat at Cor's otherside. “He's left a trail of destruction from Tenebrae to Duscae that, according to our spies, have the top brass crapping out coeurl kits.”

Cor frowned, straightening up in his chair, his spine popped painfully but he ignored it as he immediately snatched the folder up, “Explain,” he ordered even as he opened it up.

Titus smirked a little as he stood on his back leg and folded his arms, “He's a smart kid. He redirected all of the airships and forces searching for his Majesty during his escape to himself. He sabotaged the ammo depot at Piztala, how the hell he did it I don't know but it caused some kind of chain reaction that took out half the munitions factory. Fordina Castro is _still_ dealing with fiends, and all their mining operations have ground to a halt after several daemons took exception to the equipment.” Cor nodded, listening to his friend even as he flipped through the photographs of the huge blaze at Pitzala, and the forest fire it further caused stretching up the mountain – pallets of munitions cooking off in the heat and firing, only to trigger further explosions until the entire _mountain_ was on fire. It was an impressive level of destruction, and he would be having words with Monica about teaching Ani how to build explosives. This had her fingerprints all over it.

Castro's aerial images were too grainy to be of much use, the strange tree too huge and providing too much cover for what was going on in the ground to get clear pictures, but some ballsy spy or stupid tourist had managed to get a few shots they were able to get hold of. The whole place was crawling with fiends and the mining equipment that could be seen in the photographs was warped and trashed as if an Iron Giant had cleaved through it. Not unlikely, thinking about it. But it was the malboro brat he could see hidden amidst the tree-roots that had him concerned. Unknown to many, malboros were actually incredibly ecologically important. Yes, they were horrific beasts that consumed everything they could get into their faces be it human, fiend, daemon, or plant, but their excrement was a super-fertilizer, as well as their tentacle secretions. When a malboro died, its corpse could fetch hundreds of _thousands_ of gil in the right markets because it was _that_ good of a fertilizer. If there was a brat at Castro, then there would be a fully grown one too. And given the size of the tree, and the general confusion regarding its appearance and continuing size, then there was also likely to be a _nest_ amidst the roots.

“Our spies lose his trail after that for a few days, and pick it up as Fort Vaullerey goes up like Founder's Day,” the scarred Glaive said with amusement, taking malicious glee in stabbing a thick finger at the aerial photographs of the largest Niff base in Lucis obscured by thick blankets of black smoke and flickering orange flame. “No footage of who did it, but every single ammo pallet, dropship, and mech went up. Then barely two hours later, there's an 'attempted assassination' of Doctor Verstael Besithia in Perpetouss Keep, less than twenty miles away, by a 'small Lucian Kingsglaive spy' who sabotaged all the research projects, dropships, ammo-pallets, and then lead their mechs on a merry chase into the Duscaean wilds until nightfall. At which point he vanished and left them to fight a pissed off Tonberry Knight. Not much more than scrap metal and bloodsmears survived that encounter,” he finished with a nasty smirk.

“Ifrit,” Cor cursed under his breath, dragging a hand through his short cropped hair. “He is so grounded,” was all the Marshal could say.

Titus snorted, “Before or after he gets a promotion?” the man asked dryly, and Cor could only shrug helplessly, he hadn't thought that far. “The kid's a tough little bastard. I knew that before he went off, but this? We could use a man like this, Leonis.” Cor stiffened and turned to look at him, Titus was speaking with his Captain of the Glaives voice now, speaking as a soldier, not as his friend, sparring partner, and occasional drinking buddy. “I know he's handed in his resignation to the Guard. The Glaives could use someone with his skills on the front lines. It's his choice, but I will be making the offer. We're not making any headway, we're giving ground with every exchange, and in a single day he's done to fuck those bastards up than six months of fighting on the front.”

And that was the painful truth. The Glaives had been deployed on the front lines to hold off Niflheim's increasing pushes into Lucis, but they were getting pushed back with every hard shove of infantry, fiends, and even daemons. In the single week between his being left in Tenebrae and reaching Insomnia, Anima had done more than all five hundred Glaives had been able to do in six months, on his own. Titus _had_ to make the offer, had to try recruitment, it was his duty, but at the same time, Cor still wanted to punch him. His son wasn't even _awake_ yet!

He swallowed his first reflex, which was to tell him to get the fuck out – after he'd inserted his fist into his teeth. He wasn't fifteen anymore, he needed to control his temper and be a good example for his kid, unconscious or not. He took a breath and closed his eyes before letting it out, “You will wait until he is fully recovered. Not until he's awake, but until he's physically and mentally fit enough to make those decisions himself. I'll arrange the meeting myself if I have to, but you will _wait_.” He liked Titus. He did. There weren't many people who could stand on his level, who knew what it was to fight and fight and fight and still _fail_ anyway and force themselves to get back up and _keep going_. They were... Swords, yes. If Titus had been born in Insomnia, then Cor had little doubt that he too could have been a Sword within a Royal Retinue, no matter when he had been born.

Titus nodded, “Understood.”

Silence stretched between them, the steady bleating of the heart-monitor filling the room until it felt as though Cor was breathing in time with it, syncing himself with the sound as though if he did it would force his son to continue with him, for as long as he did.

He ignored the plaintive growl of his stomach. He would eat when Demeter dropped by later.

He twitched as heavy boots thudded on the floor and leather clad fingers caught his chin, forcing him to look away as his friend critically examined his face, a displeased frown drawing his eyebrows down into an even more irritated expression than usual. “Have you left this room, Cor? No, don't answer that. You haven't. Damnit man,” he spat in frustration letting his chin go to grab his arm and haul him physically to his feet. “There's that function tonight, kitchens aren't going to have time to run up a meal, and I'm not going to wait for the brat to wake up and start trying to stab me for not keeping an eye on his old man. We're going to get something to eat. And then you're going to go home, have a bath, _shave_ , because it looks like you've stapled a damn havocfang to your face, and then sleep for at least eight hours.”

The father stiffened and scowled, tensing under his friend's arm, but Titus just scowled at him steadily, unimpressed as always and unwilling to back down.

“If you're so worried, I'll have Nyx Ulric and his little friends keep him company until you get back. Astrals know I've had to put them on PT enough times to stop them from breaking into the Citadel. But you _are_ going to eat and sleep, even if I have to put you over my shoulder like Lord Amicitia used to,” he threatened, making the Marshal scowl in remembered embarrassment back when he had been short enough that Clarus and Cid took it into their heads to just _physically_ pick him up and remove him from a fight they didn't want to deal with.

Cor's stomach ended up answering for him before he could think of a way to politely tell his friend to fuck off, it gurgled so loudly that _both_ of them looked down at his midrift in alarm. There was a long pause before the Marshal huffed in defeated annoyance, “Fine, fine. Alright.”

The two waited (Cor scowling as Titus growled at him like the world's least intimidating Iron Giant about taking care of his health because _damnit Leonis the kid saw you cry on TV and put a border control officer that tried to stop him in the emergency room without even noticing or missing a step between the door and the road I'm not having him stab me in my sleep because you were too wound up to fucking_ shave) until Nyx Ulric showed up with his friends, the small trio of Glaives stepping into the room with respectful salutes to their superior officers, still in their training clothes, slightly dirty and sweaty, obviously having come immediately from the proving grounds. Twenty year old Nyx Ulrich had only grown taller and wider over the last four years, he had earned his crow's foot tattoo and other marks of Galahdian distinction. Next to him was twenty one year old Libertus Ostium, great-grandson of Lord Ostium, the brain behind Crestholm Channels and the water-purifcation plant of Ostium Gorge. He was a little shorter than his childhood friend, but wider still, built like a brick, Cor had no doubt that he was even more physically powerful than anyone would give him credit for at first glance. Dwarfed by the pair, seventeen year old Crowe Altius was already making a name for herself in the magic division, and growing into a devastatingly beautiful young woman – one with more than a passing similarity in appearance to Anima's mother, Desino Sterpis, he realised with an unpleasant jolt. There were differences, but.... the resemblance was actually startling now that he had noticed it.

They gave him a brief moment of privacy to weave his way through the monitors, tubes, and wires to kiss his son's forehead and just breathe for a moment before Titus firmly steered him out of the room, giving the three stern instructions to call his personal number if anything happened. They stood to military precision and confirmed before the two left, and when the door swung shut behind them, the first thing he heard was Ulrich's voice, loudly, saying:

“You absolute little shit, Ani! You _stabbed_ me, how could you let us think you were dead? Just wait till you wake up. Imma kick your ass all the way _back_ to Tenebrae, you little bastard!”

Titus sighed heavily, and tugged him down the corridor, muttering something about the kid getting it out of his system while the brat was sleeping. Cor.... could understand that. But hearing someone _else_ say that he was going to wake up made the tight knot of dread and anxiety loosen in his stomach. It didn't vanish, but it loosened. Enough so that he could breathe, enough that he could rub away the ache of his scowl and stop looking a step away from murder.

The two left the citadel in Titus' personal car and made their way to the edge of the slums where a lot of the refugees made their homes, where Cor used to live in all honesty before Anima came into his life. The Glaive captain seemed surprised when he spoke up enough to direct him to a parking space where they wouldn't get bothered, and even led the way to one of his old favourite food-stalls when the man demanded to know what he wanted to eat.

“I haven't been here for years,” Cor admitted lowly with a sigh. When it was just him, he didn't think or worry so much about the anti-royalist movements that had been growing in the slums, he could handle anything a drunk could throw at him, but with Anima – he couldn't risk bringing his baby down here, not when there was always the risk of Niflheim spies in the area that may or may not pass information back to them about the Marshal's sudden and obviously vulnerable weakspot. Hah. Not that it _was_ a weakspot anymore. Anima was more than old enough to handle himself and Niflheim were going to think twice and once more again before attempting to tackle him now that he had shown himself to be a vehicle of mass destruction. When they learned he had done all of that while suffering the injuries he _had_?

“I didn't know you were a fan of foreign food,” Titus admitted neutrally as Cor descended the steps to old Maria's restaurant, all of her mismatched tables and chairs, the strung up lights over head, the railings that were absolutely bursting with plants and flowers, the wall of herb pots all growing happily, and the slow, old fashioned music that his mother used to love playing on an old record player in the kitchen. It hadn't changed much in the years. The old garden bench he helped her son's sand-down and varnish before he signed up for the Guard was still there, it didn't look fit for sitting on anymore, the wood grey with age, the varnish cracked and flaked away, but it was covered with flowerpots and little ornaments now.

“Home cooking, actually. Maria was a friend of my mother's, they were in the same refugee group as children,” he admitted without shame even as the young lady behind the counter squinted at him and then straightened up before rushing into the back with a call of 'Granma!'. The two stripped out of their jackets, and right before Cor was about to sit, old Maria came rushing out from the back. Her back was bent with age, and she was practically blind without the coke-bottle glasses she had perched on her tomato-like nose, but her hands were cool and her skin paperthin and soft as she touched his face, babbling away in old Eusciellian, exclaiming over how much he looked like his grandfather and scolding him for not visiting sooner.

She got them settled with probably more food than they could eat (and he said _probably_ because they were both magically enhanced, and that came with some hefty calorie requirements) in short order, and the moment the first whiff of food hit his nose, he dug in. He was definitely going to have to bring Anima down here. His son was old enough to handle himself now, there was no fear of anti-royalist movements.

Titus made a rude noise in the back of his mouth as he glared at his phone, “Why the hell do I pay these idiots at all?” he grumbled to himself before catching his look of confusion and showing him the screen. He knew the Kingsglaive had their own private twitter account, the Guard did too though they didn't post much more than the occasional juicy rumour, traffic updates, and who was taking leave/sick and needed their shifts covered. The Glaives were a little more.... social than that, apparently. He could see selfies on the battlefield, someone had posted a picture of their cactuar collection and bragged about how they were only missing the Altissian special. And there, front and centre, was a selfie posted by Miss Altius of both herself and Nyx flashing peace-signs with Anima still unconscious in the background and the text reading ' _Babysitting Sleeping Beauty while Dad is on a hot date – will we get paid time and a half for this?_ '.

Cor stared at the image, and then looked at Titus, his expression flat and dry, “Since when have we been dating?” he asked blandly, half in humour, half in genuine bewilderment, was that how people viewed their friendship? He knew that after Anima came into his life he hadn't really had much urge to go out looking for anyone, even though Regis, Antheia, _and_ Clarus had made noise on his settling down eventually while Prometheus merely arched an eyebrow and Demeter looked amused and chuckled over he marriage to the Crownsguard. He hadn't thought his going out of his way to spend time with someone _not_ of the Royal Retinue would look like romantic interest.

His friend shot him a dirty look, “Eat your damn food, Leonis.”

He's embarrassed, Cor realised, _huh..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is known about Lucian religious ceremonies, so a lot of what is shown about the funeral is entirely my own conception. Leviathan is known as the Tidemother, and in Solheim culture water is the element of Death. Given her attitude, is it so surprising that she could be considered a Goddess of Death? So in my FFXV World-building, funerals are often done at the water's edge, ala Cloud/Aerith in FFVII, and the dead in FFX when you watch your first Sending.
> 
> Cor's mother being a refugee: I've mentioned it before, this is purely my own headcanons again. I like to think that Cor's grandfather took his young daughter and ditched Niflheim around the time their policies became more 'victory no matter the cost', and to escape the growing daemon scourge.


End file.
